


Trace Evidence

by Alexa_Snow



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-20 10:09:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexa_Snow/pseuds/Alexa_Snow





	Trace Evidence

"I'll bet you five bucks it's a squirrel," Leo said under his breath. 

Mitch stifled a laugh, and the end of his stick, which he'd been using to push dead leaves out of the way, broke off. "Damn it." 

"There's some more over there." Leo gestured over his shoulder. 

Sure enough, there was a small pile of branches at the base of a tree, some of them big enough for Mitch's purposes. "What I don't get," he said, going to retrieve one, "is why people can't just hang around. It's a waste of our time to spend a couple of hours out here." 

"It's not going to take that long," Leo said. "At least she gave us a general idea of the area. If she hadn't done that much, we'd be searching the whole park." 

Mitch sighed and selected a new stick, breaking some smaller branches off of it until it resembled a cartoon version of a broom. "True. And at least she didn't try to make an anonymous call. That's so annoying." 9-1-1 logged the phone numbers people called from, so there wasn't a way for people to make truly anonymous calls, although most of them didn't seem to realize that.

"Yeah, see? We got lucky." Leo grinned at him, working his way to the left where the ground dipped.

"'Lucky' would be having this kind of call come in on a day Joel and Bernie weren't both out sick, so they could deal with it like they're supposed to," Mitch griped.

"Drawback of working in a small town," Leo said. He stopped and frowned. "Huh. You smell that?"

Mitch moved over closer and sniffed cautiously. "I don't think so." He sniffed again. "I -- huh. Yeah, maybe." He scanned the area and caught sight of a slight rise near the base of a tree -- it could be nothing, tree roots making the ground buckle upward or whatever, not that he was any kind of an expert. But it could be something. "What about over there?"

"Could be."

They walked over slowly. It was strange, Mitch thought, wanting to get it over with and not wanting to find out at the same time. The smell got a little stronger as they got closer, which was definitely a sign that they were headed in the right direction. Unfortunately.

Once they were within a couple of feet of it, Mitch could hear the faint buzz of flies. "That's not a good sign," he said.

"Nope."

Mitch poked at the pile of damp leaves and buzzing insects with his stick, and some of the leaves slid off, revealing a layer of equally damp cardboard under the leaves.

And, peeking out from under the cardboard, the curve of three darkened fingertips.

"Christ," Mitch said.

The smell of rotten flesh wasn't too bad, not yet, but that was probably because he hadn't lifted the cardboard up. Steeling himself, he reached out with his stick again and did just that; the stench rose thick and sweet, gagging him, and he could see a young girl's face, eyes open and staring, the skin around her lips swollen and beginning to crack.

Leo made a choked sound and staggered back a few feet. "Fuck," he said. "Jesus."

"Yeah." Mitch let the cardboard settle back down, covering up the body. For a few seconds, the urge to cover the cardboard back up with leaves and pretend he hadn't seen it was strong, but it passed. He glanced at Leo, who looked distinctly green. "You want to call it in?" That'd give Leo the chance to walk away, at least.

"Sure." Leo cleared his throat and turned away, unclipping his radio from his belt.

Mitch stayed where he was, letting the reassuring sound of Leo's muttered voice soothe him as he looked out across the park. It was still early -- not much past seven thirty -- but there were people in the park. Joggers, people riding their bikes on the bike path. Women wearing business suits and high heels walking their little designer dogs. All of them going about their days, totally unaware that anything was wrong, that the dead body of a young girl lay less than a quarter of a mile away.

"They're sending a team," Leo said, coming closer. "We just need to hang tight until they get here."

"We'll have to talk to the woman who called it in," Mitch said.

"Yeah." Leo glanced at the base of the tree. "How old do you think she is?" He cleared his throat again. "Was." 

Mitch shook his head, then shrugged. "Fifteen? Seventeen? There's gotta be a missing persons out on her."

"Yeah. Hopefully it won't take long to identify her."

Leo clipped his radio back onto his belt and glanced at the damp cardboard again, then took out his wallet and opened it up. "I owe you five bucks," he said, taking out a bill and offering it to Mitch.

"Keep it," Mitch said. The thought of winning a bet because of a dead girl turned his stomach.

"No, come on, take it." Leo grimaced and pushed the money into Mitch's hand. "You can buy me lunch."

"If we have our appetites back by then." Mitch seriously doubted it at that moment, but he'd been on the force long enough -- and Leo's partner long enough -- to know that chances were good they'd have recovered by noon.

Leo was digging around in his pocket again. "Want a mint?" he asked.

"Not if it's been in your pocket," Mitch said. "I'd take a mint, but I don't want one that's covered with lint."

"Longfellow," Leo quipped. "Here -- it's wrapped." "Okay." 

Mitch took it and unwrapped it, putting it into his mouth. The minty fumes helped cover the sickly-sweet odor. "Thanks."

"No problem."

Shoulder to shoulder, they stood and waited for the team from forensics to show up.

***

The woman who'd put the call in to the station was named Anna Gerow. They didn't have a work number for her, and it was almost the end of the work day when Mitch and Leo had enough time to talk to her anyway, so they turned up outside her house around five-thirty and waited in the squad car. She lived less than a quarter of a mile from the edge of the park.

Anna turned out to be one of those business suit women: pretty in a natural sort of way, with her hair gleaming and her skirt a little wrinkled, presumably because she'd been sitting on it most of the day. She was unlocking her front door when Leo and Mitch walked up to the house, and she turned, looking worried, then relieved, then worried again as she realized who they were.

"Oh," Anna said, turning the door handle but not pushing the door open. Mitch could hear a dog whining and scratching on the other side. "You're from the police, aren't you? Did... did you find something?"

"Yes ma'am," Leo said. "Are you Anna Gerow?" They always had to ask, even when the answer was really obvious.

"Yes," she said.

"I'm Detective Banks." Leo gestured at Mitch. "This is Detective Anderson. Could we talk with you?"

Nodding, Anna said, "Of course. Come in. Unless you need me to go somewhere with you?"

Mitch shook his head. "That won't be necessary. We just needed to ask you a few questions about this morning."

"Okay." Anna bit her lip, which smeared her lipstick. Imperfect, Mitch instinctively liked her a little more. "Just... don't let the dog out." She slipped inside, managing to grab the dog's collar on the way in, and backed up to leave room for Mitch and Leo to enter. Once the door was shut, she let go, and the dog, which couldn't have weighed more than fifteen pounds, scrabbled its way over and started jumping up on Mitch, who was closer. "Sally! No! Down!"

"It's okay," Mitch said, crouching to pet the dog. It licked at his palms eagerly, ears down, tail wagging furiously. Its fur was soft and brown. "I like dogs."

"I'm sorry," Anna said anyway. "She gets lonely during the day. I try to come back at lunchtime when I can, but this morning my schedule got thrown out of whack and I didn't... well. Anyway. Would you like some coffee?"

"That'd be nice," Leo said. They knew that it helped to give people something to do in situations like this -- it'd calm her down a little if she was nervous. A distraction.

In the kitchen, Anna said, "Please, sit down." Sally, who'd followed them eagerly, immediately sat, and Mitch laughed as he and Leo pulled out chairs.

"There, see?" he said. "She's a good dog. She follows orders."

"That's the first time in months," Anna said, smiling.

"I took her to a couple of obedience classes, but it didn't work out. She was a bad influence on the other dogs."

"I've been thinking about getting a dog," Mitch said. Of course, Clay wasn't crazy about the idea, which was why it hadn't gone further than the 'thinking about it' stage.

"Sally came from the animal shelter," Anna said. "There are so many dogs that get euthanized every day because people are only interested in purebreds. I went in one day just to look, but... you know how that goes. She started wagging her tail as soon as she saw me, and that was that. Love at first sight." She finished setting up the coffee maker and came over to sit down at the table with them. "You must have found something," she said seriously. "Was it a person?"

Leo nodded. "It'll be on the news tonight," he said, then glanced at the clock on the wall. Mitch took out the little notebook he used during questioning. "About now, actually. The body hasn't been identified. We were hoping you could tell us everything you remember about this morning."

"I don't see how it will help," Anna said. "I never actually saw anything. I just knew something was wrong by the way Sally was acting." The dog stood up on its hind feet, front paws resting on Anna's thigh, and she patted it absently. "We were walking -- we do it every morning, same time, same place -- and all of a sudden she started whining and pulling on the leash. She wanted to go off the path into the woods, but I know she's supposed to stay leashed, and she doesn't always come when I call if she's excited..."

"What time was this?" Mitch asked.

"We leave the house at six fifteen," Anna said. "So it might have been six thirty? And I called as soon as I got back."

Mitch checked his notes. "You called it in at six forty-two," he said.

"And were you the ones who... found the body?" Anna asked.

"Yeah," Leo said. "Less than an hour after you called."

"Do you know what happened? I mean, was it an accident?" Anna sounded hopeful, as if she didn't expect the answer to be yes.

"It's hard to say for sure," Mitch said. "Did you see anyone else when you were walking Sally?"

"Not near where she got all worked up," Anna said. "I mean, I passed a few people, but that's all."

"And did any of them seem out of place to you?"

"You mean, were they acting suspicious? No. They were all either running or walking dogs, like me."

They knew that the body hadn't been there long -- less than a day, the medical examiner had said. But it never paid to cut corners, which was something Leo and Mitch both understood. Their agreement on that issue was one of the reasons they worked so well together.

Leo leaned back in his chair. "And when Sally started acting strangely, was there anyone nearby?"

Anna frowned, apparently trying to remember. "No, I don't think so. That path is sort of the back way into the park -- most people go in on the other side. Sometimes Sally and I are the only ones in that part of the park, especially in the mornings."

The coffee maker spat and hissed, and Anna got up to pour the coffee into three mugs that looked like they'd seen better days.

"Cream or sugar?" she asked.

"We both take it black," Leo said. He'd always taken it black; Mitch had started to for convenience's sake, then gotten used to it. She brought the mugs over to the table and sat back down.

"Should I be worried?" Anna asked. "Do you think I should start walking Sally somewhere else?"

"I don't think you need to worry." Mitch thought about it, then decided it was worth the small risk to tell her a little bit of the truth. "We don't think... whatever happened, happened at the park."

She blinked and sipped at her coffee. "That means someone moved it," she said. "The body, I mean."

"Yes," Leo said. He gave Mitch a look, but it was hard to figure out what it meant. "That's really all we can say at this time. If you want more information after the body has been identified, give us a call and we'll tell you what we can."

"Was it... was it a man or a woman?" Anna asked.

That much would be on the news. "A woman," Mitch said. "She was young."

"Oh." Sally jumped suddenly up into Anna's lap, and she patted the dog without seeming to pay any attention to her. "I worry, sometimes," she said. "Living alone. My mother says if I had to have a dog I should have gotten something bigger. Something that could protect me."

"This is a really safe neighborhood," Leo said. "And the crime rate in Franklin's pretty low compared to other parts of the state. I really wouldn't worry."

"Easy for you to say," Anna said, eyeing him. Leo had wide shoulders and a solid build, and he worked out six or seven days a week. Even people who didn't know he was a cop wouldn't consider messing with him.

"Here," Leo said, eyeing her back. He drank down his coffee in a few long swallows -- Mitch still didn't understand how he could drink it like that -- and took his wallet out of his back pocket. "Take my card, okay? If you ever hear anything suspicious and you want someone to check it out, give me a call."

Anna grinned; it was definitely a grin and not a smile. "Detective Banks," she said playfully, taking the card. "Are you flirting with me?"

"No ma'am," Leo said. "And to prove it, Detective Anderson here will give you his card, too."

"Ah. Because you always tell people they should call you whenever they're nervous?" Anna took Mitch's card when he offered it and set it on the table beside Leo's.

"Absolutely. It's part of the job."

Mitch drank some more of his coffee and put the cup down. "Speaking of the job," he said, "we should get going."

"Well, thank you," Anna said. She started to stand and Sally jumped down onto the floor. "If there's anything else I can do -- not that I think there is -- let me know."

"We really appreciate your cooperation," Mitch said.

"Sally. Sally, come here." Anna crouched down in the front hallway to restrain the dog. "Okay. Have a good night."

"You, too," Leo said. "Don't forget to call if you need anything."

"I won't forget," Anna said, and Mitch shut the door behind them as they stepped out onto the porch.

"You're unbelievable," he told Leo.

"What?" Leo said, feigning innocence. "I'm just doing my job." He whistled as they walked to the car.

***

"I'm home," Mitch called, tossing his keys onto the table and shrugging out of his jacket.

"Oh, good, it's you," Clay called back, probably from the kitchen. "I thought you were a stranger breaking in to ravage me."

Mitch toed off his shoes and went into the kitchen, which was warm and smelled good. "You shouldn't joke around about stuff like that," he said.

Turning his head to look at Mitch, Clay rolled his eyes. "If you can't joke around about stuff like that, it'll make you crazy. Bad day?"

"Yeah," Mitch said, then reconsidered. "No. Bad morning. We found the body of a teenaged girl in Meeker Park."

"Oh, no." Clay sounded genuinely dismayed, and stopped stirring whatever was on the stovetop long enough to hug Mitch. "That sucks."

"Yeah, it really does." Mitch sighed and pulled away. "Do I have time to grab a shower before dinner?"

"Sure. The risotto's got another ten minutes." Clay hesitated, then said, "Mitch? Are we okay?"

"What?" God, some careful analysis of their relationship was the last thing Mitch needed right then. "Yeah, of course we are. Why wouldn't we be?"

"I don't know," Clay said. "Never mind. Go take your shower."

Under the hot water, Mitch leaned his forehead against the tile wall and let his shoulders slowly slump down into their lowest position. Tonight wasn't the first time Clay had asked if everything was okay, and the truth of it was, the answer was no. Everything wasn't okay. But damned if Mitch could figure out what was wrong, and until he did there didn't seem to be much point in freaking Clay out. He'd want to know how to fix it.

Mitch was starting to wonder if there was anything to fix.

It wasn't that he didn't love Clay -- he did. But they'd been together for five years now. Fuck, maybe he was just getting the Seven Year Itch a couple of years early? Lately it just seemed like everything Clay said or did annoyed the crap out of Mitch, which he was starting to realize was no way to live. It wasn't like Clay had changed; the stuff that annoyed Mitch now was the same kind of stuff Clay had always said and done. But suddenly things that had once been cute... well, they didn't seem so cute anymore.

Maybe Mitch was just getting old. Considering he was only thirty-eight, that thought was depressing enough that he didn't manage to drag himself out of the shower until the water went cold. He toweled dry, pulled on some sweatpants and a t-shirt, and went to the dining room, where Clay was pouring wine into two glasses.

"Is this okay?" Clay asked. "I know we don't usually have wine, but I needed some for the risotto, and then I thought--"

"Yeah, it's fine," Mitch said, cutting off the explanation because he really didn't care.

"I'll go get the salad," Clay said.

They ate salad without much more than small talk, but the wine went to Mitch's head enough that by the time Clay served the risotto and accompanying whole- grain bread -- Clay was always finding some new hobby, and the current one was gourmet cooking -- he was feeling a lot more relaxed and less irritated.

"So then," Clay said, "they called up and said the arrangements were too cheerful! Can you believe that? After three consultations about how they wanted every color of the rainbow? I guess they only wanted somber shades or something."

"They should have gone to a place that specializes in funerals," Mitch said.

"Well, it's not like we don't do our fair share of those," Clay said. "It just doesn't make any sense. I don't understand why people can't just be clear about what they want. Is it that difficult to be direct? Especially when you're paying for it."

He got up to pour more wine, still talking, and there was just something about how he looked in that moment -- blond hair tousled, the familiar shape of his chin. Mitch couldn't resist; he had to reach out and touch him.

"Well, hello." Clay raised an eyebrow at him, glancing at Mitch's hand on his hip.

"Hi," Mitch said. Fuck it. He slid his chair back and grabbed Clay's wrist, then tugged at him until Clay collapsed into his lap with a yelp.

"Mitch," Clay said softly, melting against him with such appreciation that Mitch felt guilty for having been so distant lately. They kissed.

"This is a really great dinner," Mitch said.

Clay's blue eyes were happy. "It is?"

"Yeah," Mitch said. "And you're a really great boyfriend." Who cared if it was the wine talking -- he was horny and he wanted to get laid.

He was also, he knew dimly, an asshole, but right then he didn't want to think about that.

"Screw the food," Clay said. "Let's go to bed."

Mitch had Clay's shirt off before they'd even reached the bedroom, licking at his little nipples just to hear him gasp. Clay's hand was inside Mitch's sweatpants, rubbing his cock and playing with his balls. It had been a while, Mitch realized, though he couldn't have said for sure how long. Too long, apparently, if the temptation to just spin Clay around and fuck him against the wall meant anything.

"Here, sit," Mitch said impatiently. He unbuttoned Clay's slacks and shoved them down, then pushed Clay onto the bed and knelt between his thighs, sucking on his dick in short, quick pulls until Clay was crying out and coming in his mouth, shaking and clutching at Mitch's shoulders.

"Oh, God, fuck me," Clay said, still coming, still trembling. "Mitchell, please."

No arguments there -- Mitch struggled out of his own pants and grabbed the lube. He slicked himself up as quickly as possible and climbed on top of Clay, kissing him as he worked his way inside that tight, perfect ass. Clay arched underneath him, gasping open-mouthed and loudly as he tried to relax. It was an incredibly tight fit just like always; Clay never seemed to loosen up all that much. "Yeah," Mitch gasped. "Fuck, yeah. Love fucking you."

Clay moaned and lifted his head for another kiss. "I love you," he said. "Love... oh, Mitch."

"Good," Mitch agreed. He pushed in a little deeper, everything hot and slippery and Clay moving under him, hips rocking, taking it like he loved it, which had been one of the things that had made Mitch want him -- not for sex, not just for sex, but for himself. To have, to keep. And now...

Now it was all so fucked up, and he didn't even know why.

He forced his attention back to Clay's body, and to what it did to his when he was thrusting inside it. Clay's hands grabbed onto his ass and that, along with the slow burn of the wine in his gut, was all it took -- Mitchell came, eyes closed, lowering his weight down onto Clay. Clay murmured soft words in his ear, stroked his hair tenderly.

Mitch kept his eyes closed even when he pulled out and lay down next to Clay, and when Clay said his name a little while later, he pretended to be asleep.

***

In the morning, Mitch got up early and crept out of the house while Clay was still sleeping. It wasn't hard to do, since he'd actually fallen asleep before going back to finish dinner, and not only was he well-rested, but his stomach was growling. He called Leo from the driveway to see if he wanted to meet at the gym.

"'Lo?" Leo mumbled sleepily.

"Shit," Mitch said. "Did I wake you up?"

"No," Leo said, yawning. "The phone did."

"Very funny. Sorry. I was going to ask if you wanted to meet at the gym."

"Meet you at the gym?" Leo asked. "You?" It was clear from his tone of voice how astonishing a concept this was.

"Fuck you," Mitch said, and hung up on him. The phone rang before he'd even gotten behind the wheel of his car, and he answered it. "What?"

"Man, what crawled up your ass and died?" Leo said. "Yes, fine, let's meet at the gym. Just stop swearing at me."

"You just said ass," Mitch pointed out, grinning despite himself.

"I was referring to a part of your anatomy," Leo said. "I wasn't calling you an ass." Mitch could hear running water. "Anyway, I can say it nicer if it means you won't hang up on me. What's wrong?"

Mitch sighed. It would have been easy to come up with some excuse -- that he hadn't slept well, that he was still stressed about yesterday -- but he didn't want to lie, not to Leo. "Can we talk about it later?"

"Sure. I'll meet you at the gym in twenty, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Leo."

"No problem, man."

Mitch grabbed an orange juice and a muffin at the nearest coffee place, avoiding the actual coffee because if he had caffeine before he worked out it gave him heartburn. He'd only been on the treadmill for five minutes when Leo came in. Leo was wearing a worn t-shirt and sweatpants so thin they were practically see-through, and Mitch couldn't help but wonder what kind of looks Leo would get wearing something like that in public. Interested ones, probably.

"Hey," Leo said. "You didn't have coffee, did you?"

Mitch grinned. "No. All other evidence aside, I don't actually want to be miserable."

Leo got onto the treadmill next to Mitch's and started it up. "Are you?" he asked after a minute. "Miserable?"

That took a little thinking about. "I don't know," Mitch said. "Maybe sometimes."

"That sucks," Leo said, glancing at him. "You should fix that."

"I would," Mitch said. "If I could figure out what was wrong."

They ran in companionable silence for a minute before Leo suggested, "You could talk to someone."

"I'm talking to you," Mitch said.

Leo frowned at him. "Which is fine," he said. "But I'm not a professional."

"Sure you are," Mitch said.

"I'm not a professional therapist," Leo clarified. "Look," Mitch said. He'd been running long enough that keeping his sentences short was now necessary instead of just fun. "I don't want to talk to anyone. I'm no good at that. Talking to you... that's the best I can do."

"Okay, fine," Leo said. "Talk to me. Just don't get mad if it doesn't end up being all that helpful."

"I don't talk to you because I think... you're going to do a good job analyzing me," Mitch said, panting for air now. "In fact... I might talk to you... because you don't."

"Stop talking and run," Leo said severely, so Mitch, glad for the order even though he had five months longer on the force than Leo, did.

***

Just before noon, the body that Mitch and Leo had found in Meeker Park was identified as that of sixteen- year-old Paige Sadler, who'd been reported missing two days before. That was the good news; good only, of course, because it meant that her family wouldn't have to wait years wondering if she were alive or dead.

The other good news was that Mitch and Leo didn't have to go tell her family -- it was something Mitch hated doing, and for the most part he managed to pass the job off onto someone else. Witnessing that kind of shock and grief definitely wasn't why he'd become a cop.

The bad news -- and there was always bad news in their line of work, of one type or another -- was that they had no leads on who might have dumped the body in the park. None at all. They knew it was murder; the cause of death had been a blow to the head, but there was also evidence of severe bruising around the throat, and the girl had been sexually violated both vaginally and anally. But there wasn't anything to go on. There were no fingerprints of any kind nearby, what with none of the surfaces lending themselves toward holding them. The rapist and murderer had worn a condom, and there was nothing but soil and bits of leaf under the dead girl's nails. The only hairs they'd found on her and in the area had been identified as her own. They had nothing. No semen, no blood, no skin, no hair.

According to Paige's family, she'd been a loner. No real friends, no boyfriend. At a loss for better people to question, Mitch and Leo went to Paige's high school to talk to some of her teachers and classmates.

The principal at Paige's school hadn't known her personally other than to see her in the hallways; he pulled her file and the three of them looked over it together.

"She didn't get in much trouble," Mitch said. It was an understatement; her record was completely clean, her grades unremarkable.

"If she had, I'd have known her," Principal Weinburg said wryly. He was a small man with thinning hair and a friendly, warm manner. "The problem kids are the ones I see the most."

"I think we'd like to speak to a couple of her teachers in private," Leo said. "And then maybe we could go into one of her classrooms and ask a few questions? We won't be formally questioning anyone, obviously -- we're just hoping we might get pointed in the right direction."

Principal Weinburg nodded and checked his watch. "Mr. Clark has a free period now; he teaches Junior English. I'll send him in."

When Mr. Clark appeared, he looked appropriately somber, but quickly admitted that he'd barely known Paige despite the fact that the school year was nearly over. "She didn't really participate in class."

"Was she failing?" Mitch asked, even though he'd seen her grades.

"No, not at all. She seemed bright enough -- not one of the best students, and I don't think I remember her ever raising her hand or joining in a discussion, but she did the work."

Leo scribbled something down on his pad. "Did she get along with the other students?"

"I wouldn't know," Mr. Clark said. "I never saw her talking with anyone." He hesitated, then added, "She seemed... sad. Lonely."

"Yeah," Leo said. "It sounds like she was. Look, thanks very much for your time, and if you think of anything else, please call." He handed the man one of his cards.

"It was no problem." Mr. Clark hesitated in the doorway. "I hope you find whoever did this."

"We will," Mitch promised, although he was beginning to have serious doubts.

Paige's chemistry teacher didn't have anything more helpful to say, unfortunately, and when Mitch went in to talk to Paige's US History class, the kids seemed either bored or a little too interested.

"Did some sex freak get her?" a boy asked.

"We're not releasing information about the cause of death at this time," Mitch said.

"That means yes," the boy said, glancing around. Two of the other boys nearby grinned at him. "That's crazy, man."

"Why do you say that?" Mitch was aware that some of the girls were uncomfortable with the topic, which didn't surprise him; he wasn't all that comfortable with it himself.

"Because no one normal would have wanted to have sex with that. She was ug-ly."

The history teacher gave the kid a warning look. "Eric."

"I'm just sayin'." Eric slouched down in his seat and stopped talking.

"What kinds of words would you use to describe Paige?" Mitch asked.

The kids looked around at each other, and then one girl, a blonde in a bright red shirt, offered, "Shy?"

Mitch nodded, hoping to encourage more. "You mean she didn't talk to any of you?"

"Not really." The blonde flipped her hair back.

"What other words?" Mitch asked, but the kids just shrugged and looked down at their desks. "Okay, who were her friends?"

"I don't think she had any," a short boy with glasses said.

"How about a boyfriend?”

"Her?" Eric snorted.

Not wanting to get into another discussion like before, Mitch decided it was time to call it quits. "All right. Thank you for your help. If anyone thinks of anything later that might be important, you can leave me a message here." He stepped over to the blackboard and wrote his cell number, then nodded at the teacher and left.

Leo was waiting outside in the hall. "Anything?"

"No. Apparently she was ugly and had no friends." Mitch rolled his eyes at the ceiling and was temporarily distracted by the sight of a pencil sticking out of one of the panels.

"I didn't even get that much," Leo said. They started walking down the hallway. "The consensus seems to be that she was quiet and no one really paid all that much attention to her."

"Poor kid," Mitch said. Clay's earlier years had been like that, he knew, and he felt a sudden surge of confusing feelings -- sympathy, guilt, frustration.

Most of the rest of the afternoon was taken up by a couple of routine calls and some paperwork. Mitch made sure to check in with the medical examiner, who didn't have anything new to report even after having run some more tests "just in case". He was just leaving the building when his cell phone rang.

"Hello?" he said.

A slightly familiar woman's voice said, "Detective Anderson? This is Anna Gerow. I reported the suspicious smell in the park yesterday morning?"

"Right," Mitch said, waving to Leo as his car pulled out of the parking lot. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, this isn't a business call," Anna said.

Almost automatically, without realizing how rude it might sound, Mitch said, "I'm not available for anything but business calls."

Anna laughed; she had a nice laugh. "No, no, not like that. I've been volunteering at the animal shelter where I got Sally and remembered you'd mentioned something about wanting to get a dog. We just seized eighteen from a backyard breeding set up in Fairview and I was thinking maybe you might like to adopt one?"

"Huh," Mitch said, heading for his car. "Look, I hate to say no, but this really isn't a good time. For a dog, I mean -- the phone call's fine."

"You'd know better than I would," Anna said. She sounded disappointed, though. "There's nothing I could do to convince you? We could meet for coffee and talk about what kinds of things you're looking for in a dog... see if any of the ones we have might be a good fit?"

"I'm actually just on my way home." Mitch unlocked his car and got in, then shut the door. "My partner's waiting for me."

"And I take it you're not referring to Detective Banks."

"No," Mitch said. There was just something about Anna that was disarming, that made him willing to open up. "But he'd want you to call him Leo. And I'm Mitch."

"Well, Mitch, I was sort of thinking we could help each other out, here." Anna said. "I find you a nice dog, you save one from being euthanized. Everybody wins."

"Okay." Suddenly, Mitch wanted nothing more than to meet her for coffee, not to mention put off going home, even if it was atypical to socialize with someone who was involved with an active investigation. "If you really want to talk about the dog thing, I can be at The Hatch in ten minutes."

***

Mitch ended up talking to Anna for more than two hours, conveniently forgetting to call home to let Clay know he'd be late. The phone rang in the middle of their third cup of coffee -- Mitch picked it up, glanced at it, saw his home number, and switched it off.

"Work?" Anna asked.

He shook his head.

"Your mother?"

Again, Mitch shook his head.

"Who is it you're trying to avoid?"

Saying it out loud made him sound like a jerk, but he did it anyway. "My boyfriend."

"He'll be worried," Anna said, frowning. "You have a dangerous job. Here, give me the phone and I'll call him."

Mitch stared at her. She sure was a lot more than met the eye. "No?" he tried.

Anna crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him sternly. "You have two choices," she said. "Give me the phone and I'll call him, or go home."

The thought of Anna talking to Clay was more than he could handle; Mitch went home.

Before he'd shut off the car in the driveway, Clay was standing on the front porch. "Are you okay?" he asked, and his tone of voice made it clear how worried he'd been.

"Yeah," Mitch said. "Fine."

"I tried calling, but I couldn't get through. I left you like a dozen messages. Where were you?" Clay was practically wringing his hands.

"Nowhere," Mitch said, but he knew immediately that wasn't going to fly. "I met someone for coffee, okay? I wouldn't have if I'd realized you'd freak out about it."

"I wouldn't have freaked out if you'd called me." Clay followed him into the house and stood in the entryway as Mitch took off his shoes. "I thought you'd been hurt or something."

"If I were hurt, someone would call you," Mitch said. "Leo, for example."

"What if he was hurt, too?"

"Then someone else would call you. You're on all my contact lists at work, you know that. Why do you have to be such a drama queen?" He said it more viciously than he'd ever spoken to Clay before.

Clay looked so shocked that under other circumstances it would have been funny. As it was, it made Mitch's stomach twist and ache.

"Why do you have to be such an asshole?" Clay asked, and flounced off the bedroom, slamming the door loudly.

"Fuck this," Mitch said, and shoved his feet back into his shoes. "I'm going out!" he shouted through the house. "I'm leaving my phone off, so don't try to call!"

He took a bitter, cruel pleasure in kicking the door shut on his way out.

***

Mitch grabbed a salad at a drive-through, ate it in his car, and went back to the gym. It was pretty much unheard of for him to hit the gym twice in one day, but he didn't know what else to do with himself and it'd kill an hour and a half at least. There was no way he was going home any time soon, that was for sure.

He did turn his cell phone on, but that was just because he'd hate to miss a call from work. Obviously.

After forty minutes on the treadmill and half an hour on the Nautilus machines, Mitch -- grateful that he carried more than one change of clothes in the trunk of his car -- took a quick shower and drove to the grocery store, where he got a pre-made sandwich from the deli, a bag of potato chips and a bottle of water. He ate sitting outside at one of the two metal table-and-chairs that he was pretty sure were supposed to be for customers but which apparently only got used by employees on their cigarette breaks, judging by the overflowing ashtrays.

He didn't check his messages until he'd finished eating, and doing so only made him feel worse. What had started out as fairly cheerful messages from Clay quickly turned worried and then almost frantic as Mitch worked his way through them.

As he was sitting there, he caught sight of two men who'd just gotten out of a car in the parking lot. The driver had come around to the passenger side and was talking to the other man, who was leaning against the car like he needed its support. The driver was a couple of inches taller than the passenger and had at least thirty pounds on him, but the way he put an arm around the smaller man and started to guide him toward the store made him seem gentle.

"We've got to do something," Mitch heard the smaller man say as they got closer.

"We will. But not tonight. You haven't slept for two days, Nick. We're going to get some pills or something, find a hotel room and put you to bed." The bigger guy steadied the other one -- Nick -- as he swayed, then they continued on.

As they were passing Mitch, Nick looked up and into his eyes, and Mitch revised his previous assumption that the man was drunk or high. Probably not, he thought. Sick, maybe, but not drunk. Not with sharp green eyes like that, eyes that saw right into Mitch like they knew him.

The two men went inside, and Mitch sighed, got up, and went home.

***

The bedroom door was opened just a crack, the room itself dark when Mitch slipped inside. They had blackout curtains on the windows because there were times he worked nights and the only way he could sleep was if he could block out the sunshine, so he was an expert at navigating the space even when it was pitch black.

"Go away," Clay said, and Mitch's heart skipped a beat.

"Look, I'm sorry," Mitch said. He wasn't sure that he actually was, but it was the right thing to say, and he was tired. He wanted to go to sleep.

There was a click as Clay turned on the light. Mitch blinked. Clay was sitting up against the headboard, the blankets pooled around his waist and his eyes red- rimmed. "Let's not do this."

"What, go to bed?" Mitch asked, still standing where he was.

"All of it. Talk, fight. Just go sleep on the couch. We can figure everything else out tomorrow." Clay was wearing Mitch's old, worn T-shirt, the one he wore when he was upset or had a cold. The one he called his comfort shirt.

Mitch wasn't sure he wanted to think about what it meant that Clay was wearing it. "Figure what out?"

"What we're going to do," Clay said. "How we're going to split stuff up, I guess."

"Split stuff up?" Mitch was confused.

"I'll need a little time to figure out where to go," Clay said, and somehow Mitch got it, was across the room and on the bed, trying to pull a resisting Clay into his arms. "Don't, okay?" Clay sounded heartbroken. He pushed Mitch away and got out of bed. "Fine; you sleep here, I'll sleep on the couch."

"Clay..." But he was already gone.

***

They did try to talk in the morning, but it was awkward and uncomfortable, and after ten minutes of it Clay said, "I don't think I'm ready to do this." For a moment, Mitch hoped he meant splitting up, but then Clay added, "Tomorrow night, okay? We could probably both use a little time to think."

Mitch went to work -- he was still buckling on his holster when Sean MacPherson, who worked the desk during first watch, came in. "You're on the Sadler case, right?" he said.

"Yeah," Mitch said, just as Leo came in the other door. "Cutting it close."

"I know. I hit the snooze button three times," Leo said. "Hey, Sean."

"Hey, Leo. I was just telling Mitch that there's a couple of guys out front saying they might have some info on the Sadler case."

"Might?" Mitch said.

Sean shrugged. "They're not really all that forthcoming. You want to talk to them?"

"Sure. Put 'em in room three," Leo said.

Mitch waited for Leo to get himself together, then they went to room three, which only held a couple of tables and some chairs.

And the two guys Mitch had seen the night before outside the grocery store. They were both standing.

"Hi," he said, once he'd recovered from his surprise. The smaller man, Nick, obviously recognized him, too. "I'm Detective Anderson -- this is Detective Banks."

"Do they partner you up in alphabetical order?" the bigger guy asked. He had curly brown hair, kind of tousled and long, like it'd been a while since he had a haircut. "I'm Matthew Cole. This is Nick Kelley." He gestured at Nick.

"I saw you," Nick said. "Last night."

"Yeah," Mitch said, remembering what he'd overheard. "I saw you, too. Do you want to sit down?" They did, and so did Mitch, although Leo remained standing.

"You're from out of town?" Mitch asked, and Leo gave him a funny look. "Like he said, we sort of bumped into each other last night."

"We're from out of town everywhere we go," Nick said ruefully.

Mitch frowned. "And you think you have some information that would help us?"

"Nick has... some pretty unique abilities," Matthew said, not really answering the question. Nick kept glancing at Matthew like he wanted reassurance, and Matthew reached out and patted Nick's hand where it rested on the table. "We travel all around the country. We've worked with a couple of police departments before."

"What are you, some kind of forensics expert or something?" Leo asked.

Nick shook his head. "No. But I know what happened to that girl," Nick said. He leaned forward, looking at Mitch intently. "The one you found in the park. I saw her."

"You saw the report on the news, you mean," Leo said bluntly, and then, when Mitch looked at him, he said, "Oh, come on, Mitch. You can see where this is headed. He wants us to believe he's some kind of psychic or something."

"Of course we saw the report on the news," Matthew said. "But not until after Nick knew what had happened. I have some names and phone numbers here--" He took out his wallet and started looking in it. "If you don't think we're telling the truth -- and believe me, I know how it sounds -- call them. They'll tell you we're for real."

"What do you want, to be paid?" Leo was frustrated now; he was never the most patient of guys, and this was just the kind of thing that ruffled his feathers.

"It is our job," Matthew pointed out, but Nick was shaking his head.

"I just want to help," Nick said. He licked his lips and frowned, lifting his chin, and sat back in his chair. His eyes went a little unfocused and he inhaled sharply. "She's here."

"Oh, for God's sake." Leo stormed the few steps to the door and opened it. "Thanks very much for coming, but we won't be needing your 'help'."

Matthew was leaning over and whispering something to Nick, who was clutching at Matthew's hand and trembling visibly. If it was an act, Mitch had to admit it was a good one. "I can't," Nick said. "No, I'm not -- I know. I want to, but it's--"

"Easy," Matthew said. He glanced at Mitch and then Leo. "He can help you."

"No!" Nick's voice rose suddenly; he jumped to his feet, the force of his movement causing the light wooden chair to skitter backwards across the floor, then tip over with a clatter. Mitch was standing, too, watching Nick warily.

Leo, on the other hand, had had enough. "Out," he said. It was clear he was talking to Matthew more than Nick. "Get him out of here now."

"You're making a mistake," Matthew said, but he must have been able to tell how serious Leo was, because he was already herding Nick toward the door. Nick was fighting him, muttering something at Mitch, but it was impossible to tell what he was saying, and even when Mitch did catch a few words in a row, they didn't make any sense.

"Make sure they leave!" Leo called to Sean. He looked at Mitch and shook his head. "Why do we always get the crazy ones?"

"I think they must be drawn to you," Mitch said, but he was more shaken by what had just happened than he was letting on.

"Seriously. People watch a couple of those stupid shows on Court TV and think all they have to do is fake a couple of 'visions' to get rich and famous." Leo was disgusted. Mitch could hear Nick shouting something; it went muffled suddenly when the front doors closed. "Good riddance."

They went out on a couple of calls -- routine stuff, nothing all that interesting if you didn't get excited over a minor a case of shoplifting at a small local jewelry store. The teenaged boy had grabbed a handful of bracelets off the shelf and bolted out the door only to trip over the curb and sprain his ankle. He'd been caught less than two blocks from the store, hobbling along with the jewelry still clutched in his grip. The store owner had decided not to press charges, but one of the patrol officers thought it might help to scare the crap out of the kid, and Leo had a reputation for being the guy to do the scaring. By the time Leo finished with him, the kid was sobbing and apologizing. He left for the emergency room with his enraged mother, who promised he wouldn't get into any more trouble in the future.

Toward the end of their shift, Mitch sat down at one of the office computers to do some research. They still hadn't been able to get any leads on the Sadler case, to the point where Mitch was idly wondering if they should have spent a little more time talking to Nick Kelley. Anything would have been better than nothing, right?

An hour searching the database for similar and unsolved murders in the general area didn't turn up much. There'd been a case where a young woman had disappeared the year before; she was still missing, but the boyfriend was a suspect. There were two cases of young men being killed, their bodies found some weeks later, in towns on either side of Franklin, but the database didn't have much more information than that. Taking note of the detectives' names, Mitch slept the computer and turned in his chair to discover that Leo was standing behind him.

"Jesus!" Mitch said, startled. "Warn a guy when you come in, okay?"

"Sorry," Leo said. "You turn up anything?"

"I don't know." Mitch rubbed his forehead and sighed.

"You look like hell," Leo said. "What's going on?"

He'd been trying to hide it all day, but Mitch should have known that Leo would be suspicious no matter how good a job he did. "Clay and I might have broken up last night."

"What?" Leo stared at him. "And what do you mean 'might have'?"

"I mean I don't exactly know."

"You had a fight?" Leo asked.

"Yeah. There was door slamming. And shouting."

Mitch was starting to feel like he needed either a cup of coffee or a drink. "I don't know."

"You said that already." The look Leo gave him was a concerned one, and Mitch wasn't sure he liked that too much. "You want to grab some dinner or something?"

Mitch shook his head. "Nah. I'd be shitty company. And I'm not hungry. I guess I'm going to go home and talk to Clay."

"Yeah, you're sounding really hyped up about that idea." But Leo patted him on the shoulder. "Okay. See you the day after tomorrow?" They had the next day off -- normally Mitch would be looking forward to the chance to sleep in and spend some time at home, but right now it didn't sound all that good.

"Yeah," he said.

He sat there for a while -- the next shift had already come on duty half an hour before, and the building was pretty quiet at that point -- then went out the back since that was closest to where he'd left his car. He'd just reached the driver's side when a hand on his arm startled him; he swung around, one fist curled automatically, to find Nick Kelley's wide eyes staring back him.

Good reflexes meant being able a pull a punch as well as throw one. Mitch lowered his arm slowly while his heart beat a too-quick pattern in his chest. "Don't do that," he said.

"I'm sorry," Nick said. He glanced around. "And about this afternoon; I'm sorry about that, too. But I was hoping I could talk to you. Please."

"Where's your guardian?" Mitch asked, and Nick's lips curved into the first smile he'd seen on the man.

"That's a little more true than you know. He's back at the hotel -- it's a couple of blocks that way." Nick gestured toward the west. "We've been pretty busy lately. He was tired."

Mitch looked at Nick, took in the dark hair, the finely carved nose, the sharp green eyes. Something about the man brought out his protective side -- the same way Clay had brought it out in him when they'd first met. "Should you be out on your own?" he asked. It was kind of blunt, sure, but the answer might be important.

"Maybe not," Nick said. "Matthew keeps a pretty close eye on me for good reason." He shivered, although it wasn't that cold.

"Get in," Mitch said, pointing to the passenger side of the car.

"Thanks."

In the car, Nick didn't seem to know what to say. "Are you hungry?" Mitch asked.

Nick shook his head. "I just needed... I wanted you to know that it's true. What I can do. I know you don't have any leads on who killed her -- Paige -- but I do. I know things."

"Why should I believe you know things because you say you can talk to ghosts?" Mitch asked. "For all I know, you and Matthew killed her."

Earnestly, Nick said, "We were miles away from here when she was killed. We didn't get into town until last night, and she's been dead for a couple of days -- she's pretty clear on that."

That sounded convincing, but on the other hand, it wouldn't have been hard to look up the details of when Paige's body had been found. "You're going to need to do better than that," Mitch said.

"Paige knows who killed her," Nick said. His eyes did that funny, unfocused thing again, and his voice got distant. "He followed her home from school for days. She was just starting to get worried about it when he talked to her for the first time. He said she was beautiful -- she knew she wasn't, but she still liked to hear it."

"What was his name?" Mitch said, caught up in the possibility despite himself.

"She didn't know. He said she could call him Joe, but she knew that wasn't his real name by the way he said it. He wasn't anything special to look at. Not too tall, not too short. Not too fat, not too thin. But he was nice to her." Nick sounded like he was repeating something he'd been taught, but when he met Mitch's gaze he looked sharp again. "Until he killed her."

"None of that's enough to even give us a place to start, let alone identify him," Mitch pointed out.

"There's more. There's a lot more." Nick shivered and turned toward Mitch, reaching for his hand. He looked like someone who'd been at the end of his rope way too long. His fingers were cold in Mitch's.

Mitch didn't flinch away despite the intensity of the moment. He was powerfully drawn to this man. "Tell me."

"I want to," Nick whimpered and trembled and there was nothing for it; Mitch hugged him, not caring about the awkward position or the fact that anyone could walk by and see them, and after a few seconds Nick shuddered and relaxed. "She's gone again." He sounded relieved and disappointed.

"They do that a lot?" Mitch asked.

"What, come and go?" Nick pulled away, pressing his fingers to his temples. "Sometimes. It depends on how strong they are."

Mitch was fascinated despite himself; he was starting to believe. "And what does that depend on? How old they are? Were. How long it's been since they died?"

"Lots of things." Nick rubbed his mouth. "She's not the only person he's killed."

"Shit," Mitch said. If this hadn't been a one-time thing, that meant the killer could -- and probably would - - strike again. "Can we ask her more questions? Find out more?"

"If I can. If she comes back."

"Is there a chance she won't?"

Nick sighed. "There's always a chance. But she probably will. They usually seem to stick around until whatever it is that's keeping them here gets taken care of."

"And that's where you come in." Mitch thought for a minute. "Is there some way we can get her to come back sooner? What about one of those, you know, Ouija boards?"

Leaning back in the seat, Nick shook his head. "I've never tried. Do you have one?"

"Well, no."

Nick gave him a long, appraising look.

"What?" Mitch said.

"What about the place where her body was found?"

Nick said. "I know it's not where she died" -- and that was information that hadn't been released in the news, information it would have been damned hard for Nick and Matthew to come across -- "but it's probably the next best place if we want to talk to her."

"Okay," Mitch said. Going into something like this without backup went against his training, but then again training had never covered what to do with someone who was claiming to be a psychic. And he knew what Leo's reaction would be if he called him. So instead he started up the car and put it into reverse. "Let's go."

***

The park was only a couple of minutes away, but Mitch's phone rang before they got there. He flipped it open, saw that it was Clay calling, then sighed and answered it anyway. "Hi."

"It's me," Clay said.

"I know," Mitch said.

"I was thinking about going out for a while after work," Clay said. "But if you were going to come home... back. To the house? And you wanted to talk--"

Mitch interrupted him. "I can't. I'm working."

"Your shift ended half an hour ago," Clay pointed out.

"I know, it's just... something came up. I'm going to be tied up for another hour or two." Mitch glanced at Nick for confirmation of the time frame they were looking at, and Nick nodded.

"Probably not more than that," Nick said quietly.

Not quietly enough -- Clay overheard. "Are you seeing someone?" he asked, his voice rising into a near- shriek.

"No!" Mitch said. "Not like that."

"You're so full of shit, Mitchell Anderson," Clay snapped, and hung up.

"I really, really am," Mitch said, shutting the phone and dropping it down into the cup holder.

"God, I'm sorry." Nick leaned forward and put his face in his hands.

Mitch reached over and rested his hand on Nick's shoulder. "It's not your fault. Things have been screwed up for a while. Now we're just... I don't know, trying to figure out how to untangle our lives so we can go on alone."

Nick looked at him. "It doesn't sound like that's what you want," he said.

"I don't know what I want," Mitch said honestly. "I guess I want every little thing he does not to get under my skin. Things that used to be cute--" He winced at the word choice, but went on, "Now they just annoy me." He slowed down as the neared the public parking lot that was adjacent to the park. "Here we are."

"Okay." Nick took a steadying breath. "Are we close to where her body was found?"

"Not really. It's on the other side, over there." Mitch pointed. "Don't worry, I have a flashlight and stuff. It'll be fine."

Nick smiled grimly. "Oh, don't worry, Detective Anderson. I stopped being afraid of the dark a long, long time ago."

Made sense. "Well, good. And it's Mitch."

They walked across the park through the twilight -- it was strangely quiet, when this time of day should have been one of the most crowded. Mitch supposed it was because of the news reports; things like that spooked people, and probably with good reason. The fact that they didn't know Paige hadn't been killed in the park didn't help. Despite his claims that he wasn't afraid of the dark, Nick stuck close, to the point where his arm bumped Mitch's a couple of times.

"You okay?" Mitch asked the third time it happened.

"A little nervous," Nick admitted. "I don't usually do this without Matthew."

"We don't have to," Mitch said. "We can go back and get him, if you'd--"

"No," Nick said. "As long as I can trust you. I can, can't I?" He looked at Mitch, expression serious.

"Yeah, you can. I'll make sure nothing happens."

Nick made a little dismissive sound. "You can't do that. Just don't leave me here. If I start to freak out, try not to let me hurt myself, and if I stop talking, wait it out. I'll be back sooner or later."

It was all starting to seem more complicated than Mitch had been counting on. "What do you mean, hurt yourself?"

"If I get... lost enough, I could walk myself into a tree," Nick said. He glanced around. "Oncoming traffic's less likely to be a threat here."

"I think I can stop you from doing that much." Mitch slowed down as they neared the wooded area where he and Leo had found Paige's body. "It was over here."

"Paige?" Nick said, like he wasn't talking to Mitch, and Mitch froze.

"Is she here?" It felt natural to ask, but as soon as he had, he was glad they were alone, because from a practical standpoint it made him sound kind of crazy.

"No. I don't know." Nick tilted his head to the side, listening. "I know she wants to tell me. She wants us to catch this guy. She's confused, scared. He... he took her to his apartment. It's close by. Small. The walls are off- white, and the paint is scuffed in some places." He took a few uncertain steps in the direction of the tree where Paige's body had been hidden, and Mitch reached out and took hold of his elbow. Right away, Nick turned toward him. "Help me," Nick whispered, and Mitch wasn't sure if he was talking to him or to Paige.

"I will," he said anyway. "I'm right here. Whatever you need."

Nick's head tilted down, his forehead coming to rest on Mitch's chest, and Mitch's hand went up automatically to the back of Nick's neck.

"It's okay. Nick? Tell me what to do."

"Don't let me," Nick said, but left the thought unfinished. "I need to get closer."

Mitch walked with him until they were only a couple of feet from the tree. The police tape was gone, but if you knew what to look for you could see where the leaves and ground had been disturbed. The last rays of sunshine were fading away, Mitch's eyes adjusting to the darkness. He looked around, but they were still alone.

As far as he could tell, anyway.

Nick pulled away from Mitch and went right to the tree, laying his palm against it. "I know," he said. "He took her to his apartment. It wasn't the first time. They... they had sex. That wasn't the first time, either."

"Did she consent to it?" Mitch asked.

"Yes," Nick said. "She didn't like it, though. It hurt. But he said nice things to her. He was nice to her, at first. He said she could make him happy. She wanted to." He was leaning against the tree now, and Mitch went closer in case he needed more support than that.

"What did he look like?"

"I told you. Not tall, not short. Average weight. Brown hair. Brown eyes." It could have been a description of half the men in town.

"Okay," Mitch said. "Was there anything special about him? The way he looked, I mean. Tattoos, scars, piercings?"

After fifteen seconds or so, Nick answered. "There's a tattoo on his wrist -- like a cross, but with a circle. Celtic cross."

"What about the apartment? Where does he live?"

Nick -- or maybe Paige -- seemed to have stopped listening. "She used to leave her bedroom window unlocked for him. He'd sneak in while she was at school and leave things under her pillow. Little presents."

"And then he killed her," Mitch said, hoping to get things back on track, partially because the last thing he wanted was to hear about how this killer had been such a nice guy.

"She didn't--" Nick twitched and cried out, stumbling away from the tree and wrapping an arm around his head as best he could. "Don't -- don't touch me. I just need -- I have to know. Please. Please. I can't help if I don't..."

Mitch knew he should have asked more questions before they got so deep into this. This was too fucked up, and he had no idea how to deal with it. "Nick. Nick."

"They had sex," Nick said, no inflection in his voice. "He wanted to do it again and she said no. He -- he--" He broke, collapsing to the ground like his feet had been cut out from under him; Mitch lunged for him but was too late. He knelt beside Nick instead, afraid to touch him, afraid not to. "It wasn't the first time, and he's going to do it again."

"Who else has he done this to? Do you know? Does she?" Mitch settled for being as close as possible but kept his hands to himself.

Nick's head shook back and forth slowly, weaving. It was darker than it had been, and Mitch couldn't tell if his eyes had that glassy, unfocused look he remembered from before. "She knows, now, that she wasn't the first. I don't know how -- it's not like they can read minds, they can't, they don't know what he -- oh shit, oh Christ, no, no, no--"

He sounded so desperate that Mitch couldn't stop himself from reaching for him, one hand curling around Nick's upper arm. "Easy," he said helplessly. "It's okay. Just... breathe, or something. It's not real."

"Not real?" Nick laughed, high and hysterical. "God, do you have any idea how much I wish it wasn't? It is, whether you believe it or not. I can hear them, and I'm not crazy. Don't leave me."

"I won't," Mitch promised. "I'm not. I'm right here. What does she know?"

"He told her. After she was dead. About the others, and how he did the same to them..." Nick raised his face to Mitch's. "There were three of them," he said. "And two of them were men."

"They... what?" Mitch was shocked.

"They were all different," Nick said. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and rocked forward and back a little, and he sure as hell looked -- and sounded -- crazy. "But he must have seen the same things in them, the same... whatever it was that made him want them. He wanted them, and he takes what he wants. He--" Nick jerked away from Mitch suddenly, falling onto his back and arching like he wasn't getting any air, hands scrabbling furiously at the ground for purchase. The choked wail he made was enough to make Mitch's skin prickle.

He moved, getting an arm around Nick and pulling him half into his lap. "Nick," he said urgently as the other man whimpered and struggled, then abruptly quieted, curling up with his head pressed to Mitch's thigh. More uncertain now, Mitch repeated Nick's name.

"Sorry," Nick muttered. He gave a whole-body shiver. "Mitch?"

"Yeah," Mitch said. "I'm here. Are... are you okay?"

Nick swallowed but didn't otherwise move. "Not really. Give me a minute."

"Okay." Hesitantly, he stroked Nick's hair, and Nick gave a little sigh that sounded appreciative. "There's no rush. Take all the time you need."

"S'cold." It was more an observation than a complaint, but Mitch slid his hand down and rubbed Nick's arm instead, trying to warm him up. "Thanks for staying."

"I told you I would," Mitch said. "Anyway, who the hell would just leave you in the middle of something like that?"

"You'd be surprised," Nick said wryly. He sighed again and struggled to sit up, bracing a hand on the ground next to Mitch's leg.

Mitch helped him; he didn't realize until Nick was sitting up straight that the other man was still practically in his lap. He could feel Nick's other hand resting on his hip.

"You sure you're okay?" Mitch asked.

"Better than I was." Nick was close enough that Mitch could feel breath across his skin. "Sometimes it takes a lot out of me, but I'm used to it."

Considering how it had looked from his side of it, Mitch didn't see how it was the kind of thing anyone could get used to. He even believed, at that point, that everything Nick had told him was true. The way Nick had cried out, the almost-seizure he'd had, not to mention the way he was still shaking and clinging to Mitch... no one was that good an actor. "Have you ever gone to a hospital?"

"Once. I passed out and Matthew couldn't wake me up -- I think he panicked. I woke up in the emergency room. I was fine, though." Nick leaned in closer, seeking either warmth or just contact, and Mitch didn't complain. They sat there quietly, listening to the sounds of cars in the distance, with Nick's hand at the waistband of Mitch's slacks moving every once in a while, the subtle unconscious caress and the smell of Nick's hair, unfamiliar hotel shampoo, making Mitch slowly, painfully hard.

He wanted Nick. He didn't exactly understand why, but it was there, and it wasn't just physical. It was that need to protect Nick, to take care of him, to make everything better. Nick's partner Matthew couldn't even be bothered to show up tonight, or Nick had snuck out without him (and there had to be a reason for that). Mitch was the one who was here.

Mitch slid a hand up Nick's arm and over his shoulder to the back of his neck. His fingertips brushed into Nick's hair at the nape; Nick lifted his face, and Mitch kissed him.

Nick's lips and nose were cold, but his mouth parted willingly against Mitch's, his hand tightening at Mitch's waist. Mitch wrapped his other arm around him and pulled him closer, delving his tongue into Nick's mouth for a first taste of the warmth there; Nick made a small, eager sound and grabbed hold of the front of Mitch's shirt.

"Jesus, you feel good," Mitch muttered.

Nick turned to face him, legs straddling Mitch's lap. Both his hands came up to Mitch's face as the two of them found a better angle. "Mitch... we can't do this," Nick said.

"Sure we can," Mitch disagreed, although they sure as hell couldn't -- shouldn't -- do it here.

"No, we can't." Nick kissed him again, though. It made it hard to take him seriously.

Mitch decided that the best way to keep Nick from continuing to say they couldn't do something that they obviously were doing was to kiss him, so he focused on doing that. Nick felt fantastic, solid but not heavy, and he clung to Mitch like he needed him, which just turned Mitch on that much more.

"No," Nick said against Mitch's lips, and then again with more emphasis. "No."

Disappointed, Mitch let go of Nick's arms and leaned back. "Okay," he said. "Whatever you want."

Nick got up and backed away. "Can we go?"

They walked back to the car without saying anything. Mitch unlocked the passenger side door for Nick and waited for him to get in, then shut the door; he didn't realize until he'd walked around to the other side how weird all of this was, and then he had to pause for a second and take a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he said, after he'd started driving back toward Nick's hotel. "I didn't -- I don't do stuff like that."

"It's not that I didn't like it," Nick said. "But Matthew

wouldn't. And I'm pretty sure your boyfriend wouldn't be too crazy about it, either."

"We broke up," Mitch said. "I think. Which would make him not my boyfriend."

"You don't know what's going on," Nick said. "You need to talk to him and work things out before you start messing around with other people."

Mitch tried to let that sink in. "I know," he said finally. "You're right. I've never -- I never cheated on Clay. Never. God." It made his throat hurt to think about it.

"Hey." Nick patted Mitch's arm. "Don't freak out. Just take a couple of deep breaths and figure out what you want to do. If it's over, you can move on knowing you did what you could. If there's still something there that can be fixed, you can work on it. Together."

When they arrived at the hotel, it was nicer than Mitch remembered, even though it had been a couple of years since the last time he'd been there. He shook his head at the desk clerk when they went by -- she must have recognized him, because she looked first alarmed, then relieved. It was a reaction Mitch was pretty familiar with. He walked Nick up to his room.

"I have a key somewhere," Nick said, fumbling in his pockets. He got the key card out, but it slipped from his hands and fell to the floor.

"I've got it," Mitch said. Bending down, he picked up the card. When he straightened back up again, he glanced at Nick, who looked so exhausted and miserable that Mitch did a double take. "Hey," he said gently, and hugged him. It was an impulse, a need to provide comfort. He inhaled and exhaled a couple of times, imprinting the scent of Nick's hair in his memory, then pressed an awkward kiss to Nick's temple before pulling away. "Here."

Nick took the key and smiled. "Thank you."

Shaking his head, Mitch said, "No -- thank you. For everything."

"I just wish I could have done more," Nick said, and before Mitch could reply, the door opened.

"Where the hell have you been?" Matthew asked. He was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that were rumpled from sleep, his curly hair mussed up.

"I left you a note," Nick said.

"Yeah, I know," Matthew said. "But you didn't say where you were going or how long you'd be gone. Is he under arrest?" This question was obviously aimed at Mitch.

"No." Mitch wasn't sure what was going on between Nick and Matthew, so he thought it was best to say as little as possible.

"Good." Matthew relaxed and stepped back. "Come on in."

Mitch followed Nick into the room, which had the standard two double beds but also a small sitting area with a sofa and chair. "This is nice."

"We gave up on cheap places years ago," Matthew said. "Not that we couldn't be doing better." He sounded a little bit annoyed, Mitch thought, and Nick's shoulders slumped.

"Seems like you're doing pretty good to me." Mitch wasn't just saying it.

"Yeah, well." Matthew shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck like he was trying to get a crick out. "Excuse me a minute." He went into the bathroom and shut the door.

"Sorry," Nick said quietly, once they heard the water running. "He's not really a morning person."

"It's dinnertime," Mitch said.

Nick grimaced. "You know what I mean. It takes him a while to wake up."

"What was all that about, anyway?" Mitch asked, keeping his voice low.

"Oh... he wishes I'd agree to doing stuff that'd make us more money. You know, interviews on TV, maybe one of those shows where the psychic does readings for members of the audience... that kind of thing."

"You don't want to?" Even as he said it, Mitch realized what a stupid question it was. "No, obviously not. So not all the ones on TV are fakes?"

"I don't know," Nick said. "Probably some of them are. But there are ones like me, except some of them have a lot better control over their abilities than I do." He sat on the bed Matthew had been sleeping in, the one with the covers down and rumpled.

"You're helping people, though," Mitch argued. "And you're trying. That's what matters."

"Even if it didn't," Nick said, "it's the best I can do." He sounded lost.

Matthew came back out of the bathroom, looking a little less sleepy. "So, what happened?" he asked.

"I thought if I could talk to him alone, maybe things would be different," Nick said.

"Were they?" Matthew sat next to Nick and put a hand on the back of his neck, cradling the base of his skull the same way Mitch had been not long before. The look he gave Mitch was calculated, making sure that Mitch knew who Nick belonged to.

"We went to the park," Nick said.

"The one where they found the body?" Matthew asked, frowning. "That was a shitty idea. You know what could have happened?"

"Mitch was there," Nick protested. "It was fine. He kept an eye on me."

"Right, because he's got a lot of experience taking care of you," Matthew said. He glanced at Mitch. "No offense."

"It's okay," Mitch said. "But he's right -- it turned out okay. Here we are." In his world, that was one of the things that mattered most -- the final outcome.

"And did you get anything out of it?" Matthew asked. Mitch nodded. "It was a little confusing, but yeah."

He looked at Nick. "Would it be okay if I called you? If I had more questions? I don't know how long you're going to be in town..."

"We stay until he's ready to move on," Matthew said.

"I don't know," Nick said. "If... I think she's gone, but that doesn't mean she is. And it doesn't mean the others aren't still around. Wherever they died."

"Oh, great, a serial killer?" Matthew sounded fed up; it made Mitch want to hit him, because none of this was Nick's fault.

It also made him feel guilty, because he recognized Matthew's tone as the same one he'd been using more and more often with Clay, and he'd been both oblivious to it and blind to how it must have been making Clay feel. "We don't know that for sure," Mitch said.

"Yes, we do." Nick was firm. "Well, I don't know exactly what makes someone a serial killer, but this guy's killed four people, and he's going to do it again." His voice was shaky, and Matthew put an arm around him like it was a reflex.

"He's not," Mitch said. "I won't let him. It stops here, okay? I promise you that."

The look Nick gave him was grateful and trusting. "Okay," he said. He swallowed and licked his lips, then got up and moved to the bedside table. Opening the drawer, he took out a piece of paper and a pen, then leaned over the table to scribble something down. "Here." He stepped closer and gave Mitch the paper. "Call whenever you need to."

"And you call me," Mitch said. "If you think of anything else. Like where this guy lives?"

Nick shook his head. "She didn't know how to tell me. It's an apartment building; that's all I know."

"Okay." Mitch nodded at Matthew. "Thanks for all your help. Have a good night."

"We will," Matthew said.

As soon as Mitch got into his car, he called Leo, who for some reason wasn't answering his phone. "Come on," Mitch said, listening to it ring, but it went to voice mail. "Leo, it's me. I've got a lead on the Sadler case and I need to talk to you." He exhaled. "Call me when you get this."

He sat in the parking lot for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do next. Part of him was tired enough to want to call it a day, but the thought of his inaction resulting in another death had him calling work instead. He got the Sadler' address and drove over there; Mrs. Sadler was in the middle of cooking dinner when he knocked on the door. She wiped her hands on her apron absently, like she didn't know she was doing it. The stains on it, a variety of organic shades, made Mitch wonder if she'd been cooking since her daughter had disappeared.

"Hello," she said, offering her hand.

"Hello, ma'am. I'm Detective Mitch Anderson." He held up his badge so she could see it.

"Oh." Her first name was Ellen, Mitch knew. "You're one of the men who found Paige."

"Yes, ma'am, and I'm very sorry for your loss. I was hoping you could spare a few minutes to answer a couple of quick questions?"

"Sure. Come in -- I was just cooking..." Mrs. Sadler looked slowly toward the kitchen -- just then, the sound of a smoke detector going off pierced the air. "Oh, no."

"It's okay," Mitch reassured her. "I'll get it." He quickly found the smoke detector, took it down, and silenced it, then moved to turn on the fan over the stovetop. Mrs. Sadler opened a window.

"I probably shouldn't be cooking," she admitted, sinking down into a chair. "I can't seem to concentrate on anything."

"I'm sure that's understandable," Mitch said. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Mrs. Sadler turned her gaze on him, her expression going from kind of befuddled to much sharper. "You can find the monster that killed my little girl," she said.

"I will," Mitch promised. "Did Paige mention anything unusual in the couple of weeks before she disappeared? Anything at all? About any new friends she might have made...?"

"Do you think someone at her school did this?" Mrs. Sadler asked, a hand going to her throat in horror.

"No, no," Mitch said. "We've talked to some of her teachers and classmates, and we don't have any reason to think it had anything to do with school. But maybe... did she have any after-school activities? Music lessons, sports, anything like that?"

Mrs. Sadler shook her head slowly. Her brown hair, which had more than a few gray streaks in it, was pulled back from her face, making her look tired. Or maybe she just was tired. "She didn't seem interested in any of those things. She was a good girl. She never got into any trouble, she got good grades... who would do something like this?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," Mitch said grimly. "I know this is a difficult time--"

"Her funeral is tomorrow," Mrs. Sadler said. "That's why I'm doing all this cooking. People will come back here afterwards, and I have to have something to feed them..." She started to cry softly, making no effort to hide the fact, the tears running down her face unchecked. "My husband went to buy a suit. His old one didn't fit anymore, and he couldn't go to our baby's funeral without a new suit..."

"I'm so sorry," Mitch said again. This was one of his least favorite things, dealing with people who were grieving, and the thought struck him suddenly that it was probably because it reminded him of when his parents had died.

He'd been sixteen, just old enough to have control of his emotions, and he hadn't cried. Everyone around him had -- his aunt and uncle were the worst. They'd handled everything from the funerals to the estate, opened their home to Mitch, but they'd cried through every step of the process, and somehow Mitch had never been able to forgive them for it. They should have been there for him, and he'd thought that should include keeping it together instead of falling apart and forcing him to be the strong one.

Mrs. Sadler was brushing away her tears now; Mitch handed her the box of tissues that was on the table, and she took it gratefully. "Thank you," she said. "You're so nice. I'm sorry -- what was it you were asking?"

Relieved that she had rallied, Mitch said, "If you could remember anything unusual, anything at all. Even something that didn't seem important might help."

She looked out the window over the sink at the darkened sky, then got up and went over to the windowsill. She picked something up and offered it to Mitch; it turned out to be a keychain with a nondescript key on it -- the keychain looked like stainless steel, rectangularly shaped with a darker carbon fiber insert in the center. Mitch reached into his pocket for a glove before he took it from her. "I just found it yesterday when I was straightening up her room," Mrs. Sadler said.

"This was Paige's?" Mitch asked.

"The keychain was. I don't know where the key came from. It doesn't look like one of ours." Mrs. Sadler sat down again. "About... maybe three or four weeks ago, she came out of her room after school with a little wrapped package in her hand. She said she'd found it on her pillow. When she opened it, the keychain was inside. I thought..." She looked down, maybe ashamed. "I thought she'd put it there herself. She didn't really have any friends, and I think she was lonely, sometimes... I thought maybe she was trying to pretend she had a secret admirer. It didn't seem like the kind of thing she'd pick out."

Mitch remembered what Nick had said about Paige leaving her window open, her lover coming in and leaving her presents -- had this been the first gift? Had the guy been stalking her for a while before he'd finally approached her? "What happened after that?"

"She didn't mention it again until the day before she... she disappeared. She was upset because she couldn't find it. She asked me if I'd seen it." Mrs. Sadler got up and took the cover off a large pot, then stirred the contents. "She turned the house upside down looking for it." She sighed. "I found it in a pile of clean clothes she'd never gotten around to folding."

"Do you mind if I check and make sure the key doesn't fit any of your locks?" Mitch asked.

She shook her head. "No, of course not. Whatever will help."

He went outside and, still wearing the glove, tried the key in each of the exterior locks including the padlock on the shed in the back yard; it didn't fit. He knocked on the door again, and after a minute Mrs. Sadler came and opened it. "Would it be okay if I kept this for a while?" Mitch asked, holding up the key.

"Yes. There's nothing else you need?" She seemed weary and emotionally distant now.

Mitch went over everything in his head. "No. Would you like me to put the smoke detector back?"

Mrs. Sadler smiled wanly. "My husband just called; he'll be home in a few minutes. He can do it."

"Okay." Mitch nodded. "I'll be going, then. We'll be in touch."

In his car, Mitch phoned the precinct in Greenville and asked to speak to the detective in charge of one of the unsolved murders he'd found on the computer earlier. He got lucky -- the guy was actually on duty and not far from where Mitch was at the Sadlers', and agreed to meet Mitch in the parking lot of a convenience store nearby.

"Jim Harper," he said, offering his hand as Mitch shut his car door.

"Mitch Anderson. Thanks for meeting me." They shook hands.

"No problem." Jim leaned against his squad car and crossed his arms over his chest. "I heard about the girl being killed. It didn't occur to me to connect the two cases."

"I don't know for sure that they are connected," Mitch said. "It just seemed worth it to dig a little deeper and find out."

"Teenaged girls being murdered -- that's pretty much as bad as it gets," Jim said. It was the kind of thing cops said to each other, knowing that it wasn't anywhere near as bad as it got.

"Yeah. So, what can you tell me? You know how that database is, three quarters of the entries are bare bones."

Jim nodded. "In this case, there isn't that much to tell. We couldn't come up with any evidence. I figured it was one of those cases that would never be closed."

"What about the basics -- how did he die?"

"Coroner said it was strangulation. There was a lot of bruising around the throat. Nothing else -- unless you count the fact that he was probably raped. Coroner thought that might have happened after he was already dead, though." Jim smirked in a way Mitch didn't like.

"The girl was, too," Mitch said. That was enough of a similarity to warrant further investigation, at least. "No evidence? Blood, hair, semen?"

"Nothing," Jim said. "If there had been, we'd have followed up."

"What about where the guy was found?"

"That was in the report," Jim pointed out. "Somebody's back yard, pretty much. Big property with a lot of trees, they didn't go out there very often but some neighboring kids were messing around and found the body under some rotting cardboard." There was that smirk again. "He was rotting pretty good by then, too."

Mitch didn't like to think about it. "Same with the girl."

"Really? Huh. Sounds like maybe we're looking for the same perpetrator."

"Sounds like," Mitch agreed. "Was there anyone you talked to, anyone who knew the victim? Friends, family?"

"No one," Jim said. "He lived over in those apartment buildings on the east side -- what the hell are they called... Maple Crossing?"

"Maple Gardens," Mitch corrected him. It was where Clay had lived when they'd met; the apartments were small but well maintained and the guy who ran the place was gay, so members of the GBLT community tended to gravitate there. "You remember what number?"

"Nah. Didn't matter all that much." Jim glanced at his watch and frowned. "Shit, I've got to go." He reached out and clapped Mitch on the shoulder in a way that was a little too familiar. "Keep in touch, okay? Let me know if you find anything."

"I will," Mitch said, thinking there wasn't much chance he'd ever talk to this guy voluntarily again.

At that point, he wanted little more than to go home, but he was already halfway to Maple Gardens, and it was hard to just drop things when every place he went seemed to take him a step closer toward being able to solve this case. He drove over and found the apartment manager's office, which was closed for the evening. There was a number to call listed on the door, though, so Mitch dialed it and waited.

"Hello?" a man answered after the third ring.

"Hello. I'm Detective Mitch Anderson, and I'm looking for Derek Roach. Are you him?"

The man sighed. "Yes. Please tell me apartment twelve isn't playing that stupid Evanescence album at top volume again."

"They're not," Mitch assured him. "I'm investigating the death of Lawrence Driscoll. I know it's been a while, but I was hoping I could ask you a few questions?"

"Sure. Shoot." There was a brief pause, then Derek said, "Probably not the best word to use with a cop, right? Sorry."

"It's okay." Mitch grinned. "I'm standing outside your office now. Do you want to come down and meet me, or...?"

"You're right underneath me," Derek said. "Which I swear I didn't mean in a suggestive way. I'm upstairs, apartment three -- do you think you could come up? The thing is, I'm in the middle of microwaving a frozen dinner and if I don't eat it while it's still hot, it'll metamorphose from food into some sort of plastic."

"I'll come up," Mitch said, already starting up the stairs. "Be right there." He hung up, remembering those frozen meals from when he'd been a bachelor and knowing Derek wasn't really exaggerating how bad they could be. At the top of the staircase, he turned right and found #3, then knocked on the door.

Derek opened it and eyed him appreciatively for a second or two before stepping back. "Come on in." The microwave beeped and Derek headed for the kitchen to retrieve his food as Mitch shut the door. "I'd offer to make you one of these, but I don't think you'd really want one."

"Probably not," Mitch said. "I'm spoiled -- my partner's into gourmet cooking right now. It's all braised this and truffled that."

Holding the plastic tray of steaming food with a brightly colored oven mitt, Derek gave him a look that was understanding now. "And you don't mean your cop partner," he said.

"No, I don't."

Derek relaxed, letting out an audible, relieved sigh. "Well, thank goodness. It's always good to know where a person stands." He set down his food and pulled his hand slowly from the oven mitt, which clashed with his shiny purple shirt. "And from where I'm standing, I'm hoping your partner knows how lucky he is."

"He used to live here," Mitch said, not wanting to get into it. "Clay Walker?"

"Oh, yeah, I do remember him." Derek took a fork from a drawer and waved it in Mitch's direction. "Lucky, lucky boy. Too bad he met you before I did."

It was flattering, Mitch told himself. "So, about Lawrence Driscoll..."

"Right, right." Derek stirred his food, which looked like a combination of pasta and vegetables. "He lived alone, he was a nice guy. Never any trouble. He was shy, I think. His family didn't want anything to do with him -- they wouldn't even come pick up his things after he died, just told me to throw them away. Not that I did, of course. I kept a few things myself, but most of it went straight to Goodwill."

"Did he ever have people over? Dates?"

Derek ate a bite of pasta, then licked his lips thoughtfully. "Not that I ever saw. But a few weeks before he went missing, he stopped coming home after work some nights. I wouldn't have noticed except his parking space is next to mine and I, for one, have a very busy social life."

"I'm sure you do." Mitch shifted his weight. "Is that all you can tell me? What about when you cleaned his place out -- was there anything unusual in there?"

"Honey, have you seen gay boys' apartments?" Derek raised an eyebrow and perched himself on a stool. "His was positively boring. Clothes, CDs, furniture, sure. But no fun sex stuff at all." He pouted.

"Okay, well. Thanks." Mitch handed Derek one of his cards; Derek's fingers lingered a little too long on his. "If you think of anything else, call me."

"Oh, believe me, I will." Derek put the card down next to a bowl on the countertop between them, and a glint of silver caught Mitch's eye.

"What's this?" he asked, recognizing it as a keychain that matched the one Mrs. Sadler had given him.

Derek shrugged. "I found it in his apartment when I was cleaning it out. I kept meaning to take the key off and use it myself, once I figured out it wasn't a spare to his place, but I never got around to it. I kind of forgot it was there."

Mitch pulled a glove and evidence bag from his pocket, slipped the glove on, and reached for the keychain. After so much time had passed, chances were good there weren't any useful fingerprints or anything on it, but it didn't hurt to be careful, and now that it seemed likely both keychains had come from the same place...

There was a key on this one that looked like it matched the one on Paige's keychain, too. "Do you mind if I take it?"

"Why? Do you think it might be to a safe-deposit box full of money?" Derek smiled and waved it away. "No, no, of course, take it." He gave Mitch a hopeful look. "You know where to find me, so don't be a stranger."

On the drive home, all Mitch could think about was what might have happened if he and Clay hadn't met. They'd both been lonely as hell when they had, but that wasn't what he was focused on. What if Clay had still been living in that place when the killer was scoping out his next victim? What if Clay had been the one murdered and raped and left to rot under some fucking cardboard in some rich person's yard? The thought made Mitch feel sick; by the time he pulled into the driveway, his hands were shaking, and he was so damned grateful to see Clay's car there that it was like inhaling smelling salts, sharp and head-clearing.

He knew what he had to do.

The front door was unlocked. Mitch pushed it open. "Clay?"

"I'm here," Clay said, and Mitch followed his voice back to the bedroom, where a suitcase was open, half- packed, on the bed.

"Can we talk?" Mitch asked.

"I don't know." Clay sighed. He was holding a pair of dress slacks in his hands, still on their hanger. "Who were you with when I called before?"

"This guy named Nick Kelley," Mitch answered immediately. "It was a work thing. He's some kind of psychic, and we had no leads on this case with the girl. He was trying to help. That's all."

Clay looked doubtful. "He's not some boy on the side? You aren't sleeping with him?"

"No," Mitch said. "He's just in town temporarily, and he has someone. I'm not sleeping with him. I haven't slept with him, I swear. Can we go into the other room and talk?"

Clay sighed again, looking at the slacks he was holding. "Okay, what the hell. There's no way to pack these without getting them all wrinkled, anyway." He hooked the hanger onto the closet handle and followed Mitch out into the living room.

Mitch gestured at the couch, and Clay sat down.

Slowly, Mitch knelt on the floor in front of Clay and reached for his hand. Looking confused, Clay said, "What--"

"Let me," Mitch said, but he was ready to shut up if that was what Clay wanted. Clay didn't say anything, just looked at him wide-eyed and a little bit worried. "I know I've fucked things up, and I'm sorry. I've been stupid and stubborn. All I want now is the chance to make it up to you. Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. I love you, and I don't -- I don't want you to leave. Please." His throat and chest felt tight. "I don't want to lose you."

He knew the look on Clay's face; it was the one that meant he was wavering, reconsidering. "Are you sure?" Clay said finally.

"Yes," Mitch said. "More sure than I've ever been about anything. Please, Clay. Things will be different, I promise."

"If they aren't, I'm going to take your gun and shoot you with it," Clay said, looking serious.

"Is that a yes?" Mitch asked hopefully.

"Oh, I suppose so," Clay said. "Since you seem to want it so much." His eyes were shining, and he was smiling and putting his arms around Mitch's neck, letting himself be pulled down onto the floor. "I never could resist a handsome man..."

"You'd better," Mitch said, kissing him. "Resist all of them but me."

"I don't want anyone but you," Clay said. "I never have."

"I know." Mitch should have appreciated that more; it meant a lot, knowing that he could trust Clay, and he did know that, absolutely. He kissed Clay's ear and Clay gave an appreciative shiver.

"I've even been rebuffing the advances of this guy who keeps flirting with me at work," Clay said, tilting his head to expose his neck.

Mitch nipped at the tender skin and grumbled, "Good. You want me to tell him to back off?"

"No," Clay said. "He's a good customer, he's just a flirt. Oh, do that again." Mitch did, and moved his hand down to cup Clay's dick through his jeans at the same time. "Ohhh. Are you going to fuck me, Mitchell?"

"Not here." Mitch threaded his fingers into Clay's soft hair and kissed him wetly and thoroughly.

"Why not here?" Clay begged. His lips were swollen and dark pink, and his pale blond stubble was scraping the hell out of Mitch's face, but Mitch didn't give care.

He pulled back, holding Clay's face -- Clay's beloved, incredible face -- between his hands. "Because you deserve better," he said, "than being fucked on the floor. You deserve silk sheets--"

"We don't have silk sheets," Clay interrupted.

"Would you shut up? I'm trying to be romantic here." Mitch smiled. "I want to take you to bed. Can I do that?" Clay looked on the verge of tears, and his voice shook when he said, "Yes. Yes."

Mitch led Clay to the bedroom, where he kissed him again and again, unbuttoning his shirt -- he couldn't help but note that Clay's shirt, while stylish, wasn't flashy the way Derek's had been -- and peeling it off slowly. He kissed Clay's shoulder, reminding himself with lips and tongue how perfect Clay's skin was. "Jesus, I've missed this."

"Me, too." Clay clung to him. "God, Mitchell, I love you so much."

"I love you," Mitch told him. He undid the front of Clay's jeans and pushed them down, rubbing Clay's erection through his thin cotton boxer briefs. "Clay. My Clay."

"I am yours," Clay agreed. "Forever."

"Forever," Mitch said. "Tell me what you want." "Just you." Clay's hands were fumbling at Mitch's clothes. "Naked, and on top of me. Please."It didn't take long; their clothes tangled on the floor as Mitch shoved the suitcase out of the way and pressed Clay down onto the bed.

"What about the sheets?" Clay asked, gasping with laughter. "We're still on the comforter."

"Next time," Mitch growled. He closed his mouth closed over Clay's dick and sucked at it, a slow up and down as Clay's hips moved restlessly. He loved the sounds Clay made when he did this -- high pitched and anxious.

"Mitch. Mitchell." Clay's hand rubbed Mitch's shoulder. "Need you."

"You've got me," Mitch said reassuringly. "I'm right here."

"I meant in me," Clay said. "Now."

Mitch tried to remember where the lube was; he moved up, covering Clay with his body and kissing him. Clay's mouth opened, letting his tongue in. "Do you have any idea where the lube is?" Mitch asked.

Clay pulled away. "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh?"

"I kind of, sort of, might have thrown it out," Clay said.

"Are you serious?"

"No, I'm lying -- I thought it would make the night a little more fun," Clay said. "Yes, I threw it out. I thought..." He looked uncertain, suddenly, hurt, and it killed Mitch that he'd been the one to do that to him.

"I know," he said. He brushed Clay's hair back and kissed the corner of his mouth softly. "I know. It's okay. We'll make do. Stay here -- I'll be right back."

Mitch made a quick trip to the bathroom, where he found the bottle of unscented lotion he used when his hands got dry. By the time he got back, Clay had moved the suitcase to the floor, pulled down the covers, and was lying on his side, one hand slowly jacking his dick.

"Miss me?" Mitch asked.

"More than you know," Clay said. "Come here."

In a flash, Mitch was curled up behind him. He squeezed a little bit of lotion onto his fingers and tangled them with Clay's, slicking Clay's dick, playing with it and his balls until Clay was panting and shivering.

"Mitch, please," he begged. "God, I... I want you so much. Please."

"Oh, no," Mitch said, even though he was dying for it. "I'm not done with you yet."

He rolled Clay onto his back and knelt between his thighs, one hand on Clay's dick. Slowly, he rubbed some lotion back behind Clay's balls, teasing at his opening, then he slipped a finger inside and found Clay's prostate, pressing on it and stroking his dick. "Fuck," Clay said, eyes closed. "Fuck, Mitchell."

"That's it," Mitch said encouragingly. "Come on."

"Oh, God." Clay clenched around him, his dick twitching in Mitch's hand. "I don't... want to come 'til you're inside me."

When Mitch entered him, it was slow and hot and devastating, with Clay's legs up over his shoulders and their eyes locked. "Love you," Mitch told him, watching how Clay's eyes went glassy and unfocused with pleasure.

Clay gasped as Mitch went deeper; there was a fine sheen of sweat on his skin and his lips looked so kissable that Mitch had to lean in and brush his mouth over Clay's. "Mitch. God." He made a sound of protest as Mitch pulled out, then groaned when Mitch slipped in again. The lotion wasn't as slick as lube, but it felt just as good. Softer and warmer, somehow.

"Love seeing you like this," he said. "You're so hot when you're all turned on."

"You turn me on," Clay gasped. "Mitch... Mitch, I'm going to--"

"Yeah. Come on." Mitch wrapped his hand around Clay's dick and squeezed, working the tip, and Clay came, fluid shooting out over Mitch's fingers and onto Clay's chest and his ass pulsing around Mitch's cock. It felt fantastic -- so good that Mitch had to tighten his jaw not to come, too.

The last jolt of orgasm wrenched a soft cry from Clay, who went limp under Mitch and whispered, "Give it to me. Fuck me, Mitchell. You know how much I love--"

That was all it took -- Mitch thrust in a few more times, then threw his head back and froze as it ripped through him, hot and almost painful. He shuddered and moaned, his hips still until the end, when they jerked forward one more time.

If he hadn't had Clay's legs up over his shoulders, he would have just collapsed. As it was, he had to stay upright long enough to ease himself out of Clay and over to one side before letting himself fall down onto the mattress, face planted in a pillow.

He felt Clay's hand on his shoulder and somehow found the strength to turn his head. "You," he mumbled, "are amazing."

Clay smiled brilliantly. "I am?"

"Yes," Mitch said. He rolled onto his side and pulled Clay close. "And I obviously don't tell you that enough if you have to ask."

"I wouldn't mind hearing it more often," Clay admitted, starting to snuggle in, then reaching for some tissues and cleaning his chest off. "I guess we haven't been talking -- really talking, I mean -- enough lately."

"No, we haven't. But things are going to be different now." Mitch kissed Clay's hair and thought about it; it wasn't the kind of thing he could just say. He had to follow through. "I promise."

"I know," Clay said. "I believe you."

"I don't know why," Mitch said. He traced Clay's cheekbone with his fingertips. "I don't deserve you."

"You used to say that a lot," Clay said, frowning. "I think maybe you said it so many times you started believing it, but it's not true. You deserve to have someone, and to be happy. You can't just... start pulling away because you're afraid things aren't going to work out. Because then they won't."

Mitch stared at him in awe. "How the hell did you get so smart?"

"I read more than one book a year," Clay said flippantly. He hitched himself up onto one elbow and ran his fingers along Mitch's chest. "What was it, do you think? That started things going wrong?"

It was a fair question, so Mitch thought seriously about the answer. "I don't know. I wish I did."

"If we don't know, how do we stop it from happening again?"

"Sheer stubbornness?" Mitch suggested, and Clay grinned.

"You're good at that." Clay lay back down, cushioning his head on Mitch's shoulder. "What about... what do you wish were different?"

"Nothing!" Mitch said. "I like things the way they are. When we're okay."

"But there must be things you want," Clay said. "Oh! I know."

"You do?"

"This woman called, before. Anna? She said you want to get a dog."

Mitch frowned. "Yeah, but you don't like dogs."

"No, I don't know anything about dogs," Clay corrected him. "I've never had one. Sure, some of the bigger ones make me kind of nervous. And I don't really like the little designer ones, either. They're too Paris Hilton."

"Only if you intend to start carrying one around in a purse," Mitch said.

"Anyway, stupid," Clay said, smacking him with the flat of his hand. "What I'm trying to say is, if you really want a dog, let's get a dog."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. As long as I get a say in which dog to get," Clay said. "And you have to get me a book, like, 'Dogs for Dummies', or something."

"I haven't had a dog since I was a kid," Mitch said. "I'm going to need a book just as much as you."

"Anna gave me her number. She said, if we were splitting up, I should think about getting a dog of my own."

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you're not going to have to." Mitch shut his eyes and hugged Clay as tightly as he could in the position they were in.

Clay sighed and relaxed against him. "Me, too."

***

The next day, which happened to be Mitch's day off, they met Anna in the parking lot outside the animal shelter where she volunteered.

"You must be Clay!" Anna said as soon as she saw them. She hugged him, and, Clay being Clay, he hugged her back even though it was the first time they'd met. "I'm so glad to see you. Mitch!" She hugged Mitch, too, and he let her. "Good for you for working things out," she whispered. Then, in a regular voice, "Come on, let's go inside so you can meet the dogs."

Inside, there was an entryway and a desk, then doors that led to rooms that housed different types of animals. Mitch and Clay followed Anna into the dog room, which was instantly deafening. "Oh my God, it's like a nightmare," Clay said, covering his ears.

"Even people who have dogs can find this part kind of overwhelming," Anna said. "I can get you ear plugs if you want?"

"No, I think I'll live," Clay said. "Will they do this the whole time?"

"They'll calm down in a few minutes," Anna reassured him.

The nearest dog was watching them with hopeful eyes, tail wagging furiously. It was some kind of shepherd mix, Mitch thought. He went over and crouched down. "Hey, girl," he said, and her pink tongue came out and licked at the chain-link fencing between them.

"He's too big," Clay said from beside him.

"It's a girl," Mitch said.

"Okay, she's too big. She must weigh a hundred pounds."

"Only sixty," Anna said. "She is big, though, and she has some behavioral issues."

"What does that mean?" Clay asked. "Does she rip people's faces off? Or shit all over the house?"

Anna laughed. "No, but she hates other dogs. She needs a more experienced owner."

"Which would not be us," Clay said. "Okay, what do you recommend?"

"Well, I had a couple of thoughts for you guys," Anna said, leading them around to the left and stopping in front of a cage holding what looked like a black lab. "This is Prue -- she's three, so still young enough to make a good transition to a new home, and she's a sweetie. The biggest behavioral issue you'd have with her is she might lick you to death."

"I don't like licky dogs," Clay said. "Besides, I can't have a dog named after one of the Charmed Ones in my house. It's too creepy."

Mitch gave him a fond look. "What is it with you and that show?"

"Other than the fact that its extended run is proof that television executives are actually controlled by the devil?" Clay countered.

"You could change her name," Anna said. "People do that all the time."

"And then wonder why the dogs have behavioral issues," Clay said. He was getting way more into this than Mitch would have anticipated.

"Women do it all the time," Mitch said, and Clay looked at him funny. "Change their names? When they get married."

"Oh." Clay waved his hand. "That's voluntary. It's totally different. Next?" He looked at Anna hopefully.

Anna led them past two more dogs to another cage with a solid-looking dog that was clearly some kind of bull terrier. It had the square jaw, short fur, and brindled look Mitch was familiar with. "This is Butch."

"He certainly is," Clay said admiringly.

"He's five and was living in a house with two other dogs, three cats, and six kids."

"Now that sounds like chaos," Mitch said.

"It must have been. The guy lost his job and they got evicted. One of the other dogs went to live with a friend and the other is staying with the wife's brother -- they're hoping to get him back. Butch was the newest addition to the family, so he and the cats ended up here. He's a nice dog; friendly, lots of energy, well-trained." Anna stuck a hand into the cage and Butch sniffed at her hand politely, wagging his tail with what Mitch would have sworn was a grin on his face.

"Isn't that a pit bull?" Clay asked.

"We don't have a pedigree on him, but probably. He definitely seems to be some kind of terrier mix. But he's a really nice dog."

"I don't like pit bulls," Clay said, shaking his head. It was said in the tone of voice Mitch knew meant there was no arguing with him.

"Okay," Anna said. "The next one I thought might be good for you guys is over here." They'd moved from big cage territory into an area with cages that were more medium sized, just like the dog in question, who was white with a soft, crinkly coat, black ears and little black spots all over. Its tail had long, feathery fur. "This is Freckles. She was a stray, so we don't know anything about her background. But she's healthy, she's had all her shots, and she's been spayed. She's a little shy, but I think she'd come around pretty quickly once she had some stability."

Clay was already kneeling in front of the cage talking to the dog softly. "Good girl. Good dog." He turned his head and looked at Anna. "Can we take her out?"

Mitch and Anna exchanged a glance. "Sure," Anna said. "Let me go get a leash and we can take her for a walk."

The dog's ears perked up at the word "walk". "She's smart," Clay said. "She knows what we're saying."

"That might be taking it a little far," Mitch said. "She's pretty, though." Not really what he'd been picturing in terms of a dog, but if Clay liked her, that was good enough for him.

Freckles had crept forward slowly and was crouching on the floor near Clay, looking at him with her huge brown eyes. "It's okay," Clay said. "You're a good girl. Do you want to go for a walk?" Again, the dog's ears twitched upward. "See! She knows."

Coming back with leash in hand, Anna unlatched the cage and went in, fastening the clip to the red collar Freckles was wearing. The dog stayed crouched low to the floor, slinking more than walking, as they walked over to an outside door that led to the grassy yard behind the building, but as soon as she smelled the fresh air, she walked more normally.

"I was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with her legs," Mitch said.

"Dogs are smarter than you think," Anna said, handing the leash to Clay. "Their senses of smell are so much better than ours -- if we think a room full of dogs smells funky, imagine what it must smell like to them. They can read our body language, little movements we aren't even aware we're making... they know who to trust."

Now that they were outside, Freckles was looking around with interest, occasionally glancing up at Clay for reassurance. "Good dog," Clay told her, and she wagged her tail tentatively.

The dog stopped to sniff something, and Mitch went a little closer and crouched down. "Hey, Freckles," he said, and she watched him warily for a few seconds before taking a few steps and touching her nose to his hand. She let him pet her; it was clear she enjoyed the attention even though she was still a little nervous.

"She doesn't have any diseases or anything?" Clay asked.

"Clean bill of health," Anna said. "And she seems to get along with other dogs -- she's obviously not an alpha dog, but there's nothing wrong with that, and it means you won't have any trouble with her if you ever decide to get another dog."

"We haven't even gotten a first dog yet," Mitch protested, but he could tell by the look on Clay's face that the decision had already been made.

***

The first three hours with Freckles were a whirlwind of shopping, which Mitch was pretty sure made Clay like getting a dog all the more. They went to two super pet stores, where they bought two new collars (Clay couldn't decide which one he liked better) and two leashes (one regular leash and one of the retractable ones).

"What's wrong with this leash?" Mitch had asked, holding the one that had come from the shelter. Freckles was sitting on the floor next to him, and even she was starting to look bored.

"It's a charity leash," Clay said.

Mitch gave him a look. "We paid almost $200 to adopt the dog," he said. "Besides, how else were we supposed to get her to the car?"

"She needs a much nicer one," Clay said, hands on his hips as he checked out the selection. "What do you think of pink?"

"She's a dog, not a baby," Mitch said. "And we're not going to get any of those stupid ear bows."

"God, no," Clay said. "But what do you think about toenail polish?" He looked sideways at Mitch. "I'm kidding."

"Good." Freckles whined and Mitch bent to pat her; her tail waved back and forth against the floor. "Please tell me we're not going to be here all day."

"Definitely not. I don't like any of these -- we'll have to go to the other place across town."

It took two trips for Mitch to bring everything from the car to the house. Food and water bowls, a cushioned bed, a huge bag of kibble, some towels "just for Freckles" because Clay didn't want to let her use any of the house towels -- "They're new!" -- and at least a dozen dog toys. Clay stayed with Freckles, who didn't seem inclined to explore; she stuck close to Clay, not going more than a couple of steps from him.

They had the nicest day Mitch could remember in a long time -- an hour and a half in the yard tossing a ball back and forth demonstrated that Freckles was happy to chase the ball but had absolutely no idea what to do with it after that. At one point Mitch threw the ball and accidentally hit her with it; she just shook her head, looking puzzled, and Clay laughed so hard he fell down onto the grass.

"You'll get grass stains on your pants," Mitch told him, grinning.

"So?" Clay laughed some more, then reached a hand up to Mitch and yanked him down on the ground, too. "Hey there, good-looking."

"Hi," Mitch said. He kissed Clay slowly, then yelped when something cold and wet pressed against his wrist. Startled, Freckles leapt back, then, tail wagging, returned and licked Clay's cheek.

"Gah! Dog kisses!" Clay shrieked. He rolled away, covering his face. "Get her away!"

Mitch would have figured Freckles would be freaked out by Clay's over the top reaction, but the dog was wriggling around Clay excitedly and trying to lick him more. Clay shrieked and rolled around, one arm wrapped around his head and the other trying to fend off the dog while Mitch watched with amusement.

"Help me!" Clay said.

"You love it," Mitch told him, and Clay didn't deny it.

They took a long walk, and by the time they got back Freckles was exhausted. She collapsed on her new bed and was snoring within minutes. Mitch and Clay started dinner -- it had been a while since they'd cooked together, and Mitch had forgotten how fun it could be. Of course, they ended up getting distracted in the middle and having incredibly hot sex right there against the kitchen counter. By the time they got back to the food, the chicken was a little more done than it should have been, but Mitch was so relaxed and happy that he couldn't have cared less.

"Can you move the dog bed in there?" Clay called from the bathroom, where he was brushing his teeth.

Mitch, in the bedroom drying his hair with one of the non-dog towels, said, "Um... no?"

"Oh, come on." Clay appeared in the doorway still holding his toothbrush and wearing only his bathrobe. "She'll be lonely."

"And we'll be up half the night listening to her whine," Mitch said firmly. "No. It's better for her to get used to the way it's going to be, and she's not sleeping with us." Besides, he'd already gone through his nightly routine of making sure the house was locked up tight, and the dog had been sleeping heavily in her bed. Hopefully she'd be fine until morning.

"Okay, okay," Clay said. "You're the big dog expert." He left and came back a minute later, taking off his bathrobe and hanging it up. Mitch slipped behind him and slid an arm around his waist, kissing the back of his neck. "Mm."

"You're not too sore?" Mitch whispered, dragging his lower lip along Clay's ear. They'd really gone at it earlier; he'd gotten kind of carried away.

Clay murmured appreciatively and pushed his ass back against Mitch's hardening erection. "No. Oh, that's nice." Mitch was teasing at his nipples with both hands, pulling them into tight little points and enjoying Clay's breathy gasps. "Oh. Let's go to bed."

"Yeah," Mitch said.

Stepping back, Mitch smiled as Clay turned around. He loved looking at Clay when he was naked -- and so did his dick. Clay was already hard, too, and he gave Mitch a long kiss before sinking down to his knees.

"Jesus, Clay," Mitch breathed, threading his fingers into Clay's hair.

Clay sucked at his balls first, getting them wet, his mouth hot and perfect. Mitch groaned when Clay moved on to his cock, sliding his lips down over the head and along his shaft. Clay knew exactly how to suck him, alternating between gentle teasing and more forceful until Mitch's toes were curling and his hands were clenched into fists. As much as he loved fucking Clay's mouth, he wanted more.

"Come here," he said, pulling Clay to his feet and over to the bed.

"How do you want me?" Clay asked.

Mitch kissed his neck and shoulder, then turned him around so he was facing the wall, curling Clay's hands over the headboard. "How about like this?"

"Mm. This is good," Clay said. "We still forgot to buy lube."

They'd used olive oil in the kitchen earlier -- Mitch eased a finger inside Clay and found him slick and ready despite their shower. "I think we'll be okay," he murmured, rubbing deeper until Clay whimpered. "What do you think?"

Clay's back curved down into a beautiful arch. "Yes," he gasped. "Yes, please, God."

Kneeling between Clay's thighs, Mitch lined up his cock and pushed inside him, shuddering at the clench of tight heat. "Fuck." He held onto Clay's hips and found a slow rhythm, being careful not to be too rough. It was incredible, watching his cock sliding in and out of Clay's ass, hearing the soft little moans that Clay made.

"God, Mitchell." Clay was trembling. "God, fuck me."

Mitch jerked his hips forward and Clay gasped. "Like that?"

"Yes. Like that. More." Mitch could see Clay's hands tighten on the headboard; he slid his own hand around and found Clay's dick, working it with every thrust.

"Jesus, you feel so good," he muttered, moving faster -- he couldn't help it.

Clay was moving with him now, his dick hard as rock in Mitch's grip. "So do you. Mitch..."

"Oh God, I'm gonna come--" It shocked Mitch with its suddenness; before, he'd held off for a long time, keeping himself away from the edge by concentrating his attention on leaving a series of love-bites on Clay's neck, but now it slammed into him, his entire body lighting up with it. It was all he could do not to scream as he shot deep into Clay in fierce pulses.

He was shaking when it was over, one hand on the mattress to help keep him upright and the other still holding Clay's dick loosely. His fingers were damp where they touched the head of Clay's erection. Somehow, Mitch managed to go back to thrusting, and he tightened his grip and brought Clay off in about six strokes, groaning against Clay's spine when Clay came.

"I think I'm gonna fall down," Clay gasped, and Mitch pulled out and helped him lie down instead, both of them breathing pretty heavily for the first few minutes until they recovered.

"Should have waited to take a shower," Mitch said.

"You can grab a quick one in the morning before your shift," Clay murmured. "I wish you had two days off in a row."

"I have some vacation days to take." Mitch yawned and kissed the end of Clay's nose. "Maybe we can go away for a weekend or something."

"That'd be nice."

There was a scratch on the other side of the door, and the sound of the dog whining. "Go lie down," Mitch said sternly.

"I told you she'd be lonely," Clay said. "Couldn't we let her in? If she slept on the floor?"

"Fine," Mitch sighed and got up to open the door. "But when she stops listening to everything we say, it'll be your fault."

"I thought you said she didn't understand what we say," Clay said, and Freckles ran into the room and onto the bed.

"Oh, no," Mitch said. He went back to the bed and pointed at the floor. "Down. Down." Sulkily, the dog jumped down and curled herself into a ball. "Good girl."

Shutting off the light, Mitch slid between the sheets and got comfortable.

"'Night, Mitchell," Clay whispered. "I love you."

"Love you, too," Mitch said, and was instantly asleep.

***

"I really, really have to go," Clay said against Mitch's lips.

"I know," Mitch said, kissing him again. They were standing in the driveway next to Mitch's car -- it was already an unusually warm day despite the early hour, the sun shining brightly -- and somehow they couldn't seem to tear themselves away from each other. "Me, too."

Clay sucked on Mitch's lower lip. "I don't want to be late."

"Me, either." Mitch leaned on his car and slid his hands from Clay's back down to his ass, kneading at it. "Here. I'm going." They kissed again, more deeply, and Mitch wished they had another ten minutes. Five, even.

"You can't leave until you let go of me," Clay said. He pressed forward, showing Mitch that they were equally turned on.

"But I don't want to let go of you," Mitch said. "I want to stay here."

"We can't." Firmly, Clay pulled away, reaching out to touch Mitch's lip with his thumb. "You look like you've been making out."

"So?" Mitch said. He grinned and forced himself to pick up his keys, which he'd set down on the roof of the car. "Okay, okay. I'm going."

"Good." Clay backed up toward his own car. "I'm going to come home on my lunch hour and check on Freckles. I don't know how long she can hold it."

"Okay. Wait." Mitch jogged four steps to Clay and kissed him one more time. "Let's go out for dinner. Somewhere nice."

The look Clay gave him as he drove away was starry- eyed -- Mitch had forgotten how much he liked that look. He thought about it on the way to work, pleasantly distracted, and didn't remember Paige Sadler until he pulled into the parking lot. A heavy weight settled over him and he had to force his mind back on track.

He actually wasn't late, and spent ten minutes writing up the information he'd managed to collect into a brief report for the case file and for Leo, listing the sources without specifying which details had come from where. He knew Leo wasn't going to like hearing that he'd talked to Nick, but with Mrs. Sadler, that other cop Harper and Derek the apartment manager on the list he figured there was at least a slight chance he'd be able to gloss over the Nick thing.

"You talked to who?" Leo said.

A very slight chance, apparently.

"Look, it's not like I sought him out," Mitch said. "He showed up and asked if he could talk to me. What was I supposed to do, arrest him?"

"No -- you're supposed to have enough sense to refuse to listen to anything he has to say," Leo told him. "He's a fake, Mitch. A fraud. He's just hoping something he says turns out to be a lucky guess and someone -- maybe us, maybe Paige Sadler's family -- will be grateful, and gullible, enough to offer him something for it."

Mitch shook his head. "I don't think so. Anyway, plenty of these leads didn't even come from him. Here, look at the keychains." He pulled the evidence bags out of his pocket -- he'd put Paige's in an evidence bag too at that point --and handed them to Leo.

Turning them over in his hands, Leo frowned. "These came from two different places?"

"Yeah," Mitch said. "One from the Sadler house, one from Derek Roach, who found it in Driscoll's apartment."

Leo held the bags up, comparing the keys. "Huh. They look the same."

"That's what I'm telling you -- we're looking for the same killer." Mitch took the evidence bags back. "I've gotta see if they can lift any useful prints off them, but I'll admit I'm not all that hopeful."

"You never know," Leo said. "Hey, I heard Anna sold you and Clay on one of those mutts of hers. I'm glad you and Clay worked things out."

Mitch blinked. "Thanks. Um. Where did you hear that?"

"From Anna," Leo said slowly, like that was the only way Mitch was going to understand what he was saying. "We went out last night. Just for drinks, but it was cool. I like her."

"You do."

"Yeah. Don't you?"

"Oh, no. I mean, yes. I like her fine." Mitch wondered how the conversation had gotten away from him. "Look, I'm going to see if I can get in touch with the detective who dealt with the Harris case, see if I can come up with anything else that will help."

Leo shrugged and nodded. "Okay. Hey, Al's out and Mike's looking for someone to go check out that breaking and entering thing that happened at the mall last night. You mind if I go?"

"Nah -- this could take me a while." Mitch was already sitting back down at the desk, intent on getting to work.

A call to the detective on the Harris case didn't turn up anything but some numbers -- the body had been found on January 3rd and the medical examiner had said the man had probably died approximately forty-eight to seventy-two hours before, which meant some time around New Year's Eve. It was a similar M.O., although in this case the cause of death had actually been strangulation, and the man had been raped after he'd been killed.

Mitch logged into the database and looked up the girl who'd gone missing the year before, the one whose body had never been found. Her boyfriend had called the police and filed a missing person's report in mid March, saying he hadn't seen her for two days after a few weeks of relationship trouble. If Nick was right, she might have been a victim of the same perpetrator, but there sure wasn't any way to prove it.

Sitting back in his chair, Mitch searched the database some more, looking for missing persons cases that had never been solved or anything else that might seem familiar, but didn't have any luck. He was considering calling Nick's number, just to see if there was anything at all Nick could tell him that might help, when Leo came in.

"Jeez, are you still here?" Leo said. "I figured you'd have moved on to something else by now."

"I guess I'm ready to," Mitch said, getting up and stretching. "I'm not getting anywhere here."

Leo clapped him on the shoulder. "There's a report of a bunch of cars being broken into in the Bookshed parking lot. Let's go see what's what -- you can get some fresh air."

"Okay," Mitch agreed.

Taking reports from the people who'd discovered their cars broken into took a hell of a lot longer than it should have, and was a hell of a lot more boring. Mitch stood patiently as a young woman with a long multi-colored scarf and a baby on her hip tried to list the CDs that had been stolen from her car. "Um... Sarah McLachlan," she said. "Sinead Lohan -- I got that one in England."

The car looked like anyone could have taken anything out of it at any time; one of the doors was tied on with rope. "You're sure it was locked?" Mitch asked her.

"Oh, absolutely. I'm really just glad no one stole the car seat." The young woman smiled and joggled the baby, who broke into a wide, toothless grin. "I know it doesn't look like much, but it's all we have."

Feeling a rush of affection for the girl, Mitch nodded. "Okay. Hopefully we'll catch whoever did this and we'll be able to return your property to you..."

"But you can't make any promises. I know." The girl reached for the back door of the car and Mitch jumped to open it for her. "Thanks."

Mitch's phone rang. He glanced at Leo, who was taking someone else's statement, and at the other people who were waiting to give theirs, then decided he could spare a minute or two.

He flipped the phone open. "Mitch Anderson."

"Hello, lover," Clay said.

"Clay," Mitch said, smiling. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to let you know that our dog is evil," Clay said. "She ate my slippers. I thought that was, like, a cartoon dog thing."

Mitch laughed. "You weren't kidding when you said you didn't know anything about dogs."

"What, that's seriously normal?" Clay sounded horrified. "Dogs are bad, Mitchell. Really, really bad. Why did I agree to this?"

"I'll buy you some new slippers," Mitch said.

"Good. I want ones with fur linings. Although I won't be needing them tonight. What's with this weather? It's too early for it to be this warm."

"It's nice," Mitch said. "You shouldn't complain."

"I'm not complaining," Clay said. "I opened the windows before to let the fresh air in."

"And when you say 'before' you mean just now, right?" Mitch said, knowing Clay meant before they'd both left for work.

"Not exactly," Clay admitted.

Mitch sighed. "You promised you weren't going to do that anymore."

"I meant to shut them," Clay said. "I'm going to shut them right now." Mitch could hear the muffled sound of footsteps on the hardwood in the hallway. "Okay, shutting the windows. And I--" Clay stopped, and Mitch waited.

And waited.

"Clay?" Mitch said.

"Oh, Mitchell, what did you do?" Clay said.

"What are you talking about?"

"What is it? It's not a car, is it? No, because then there'd be a key." Clay sounded excited, almost breathless.

"Clay. I don't know what you're talking about," Mitch said again.

"The box, stupid. Don't pretend you don't know."

Mitch was staring down at the clipboard he was holding, the one with the report the young woman with the baby had been making. "What box?"

"The one on my pillow," Clay said, exasperated now. "The one with the stainless steel keychain in it."

In his pocket, Mitch could feel the press of the keychains and keys against his thigh.

"Clay," he said. "Listen to me," and something in his tone must have gotten through because Clay stopped whatever it was he'd been babbling and listened. "Get out of the house, right now. Get in your car and lock the doors and drive over to the station now."

"Mitchell?" Clay said uncertainly. "What are you--?"

There was a crash. In the background, Freckles started to bark. It was the first time Mitch had heard her bark, and it didn't sound like a happy, playful bark; it was snarling, vicious.

Mitch shouted Clay's name once, then ran for the squad car, the clipboard he'd been holding clattering onto the pavement behind him.

He was behind the wheel and had the car in gear by the time Leo ran over. "What the hell is going on?" Leo asked, jumping into the passenger seat, but Mitch was too frantic to pause long enough to say more than, "Clay," as he pressed the gas pedal to the floor. He pulled away, tires burning on the pavement.

"Clay? Clay, you answer me right this fucking minute!" Mitch said tersely into the phone, but the other end of the line had gone dead. He was five miles from the house.

Too far.

"Give it to me," Leo said, and took the phone when Mitch shoved it at him. "Clay? Clay, are you there?" He shook his head when Mitch glanced at him. "Nothing. What's going on?"

"He found one of these key chains in our house," Mitch said. "In our fucking bed. And then I heard -- there was a crash, and the dog started barking..."

"Just concentrate on driving," Leo told him, and picked up the radio to let the station know what they were doing and where to send back-up.

Mitch could barely pay attention to what Leo was saying. He was gripping the wheel so hard that his hands hurt, and his heart was with Clay, his brain playing over and over again the last words Clay had spoken, that scared, tentative lift in his voice, the sound of the dog snarling as vicious as any Mitch had heard before.

He took a corner so sharply that the driver's side tires left the pavement for a second or two; the car fishtailed when it came back down, but he regained control. His heart was beating too fast -- and it didn't usually do that even when something work-related sent a spike of adrenaline through him, because he'd been doing this long enough that it was old hat. Only this wasn't old hat, because it was Clay.

His fucking stupid brain couldn't stop reminding him of all the details of this case: the victims being struck on the head, strangled, being raped, and if whoever this fucking asshole was did so much as leave a bruise on Clay, Mitch was going to kill him. He took another corner, again too fast, and Leo grabbed onto the dashboard and didn't say anything. Usually the only thought Mitch spared other cars on the road when he was in pursuit or a hurry was gratitude that they were slowing down and getting out of his way, but right then he wanted to smash through them on purpose just to feel the satisfying crunch of metal on metal.

It had been a long time since Mitch had realized -- if he ever had, really -- how fragile life was. That was fucked up, because he'd seen Paige Sadler's body less than a week before. It should have sunk in. He should have known. Instead, he'd just continued on, not thinking about it, pretending he was somehow protected because he was a cop.

Mitch turned down their street with the sound of the siren echoing in his head, screeched to a stop in front of the house instead of wasting time slowing down to pull into the driveway, and flung open the car door. He ran full-out, not paying any attention to Leo behind him, took the front steps in two bounds, and tried the door -- unlocked, of course, and if Clay was okay he wouldn't be for long because Mitch was going to fucking kill him. Shouldering the door open, Mitch shouted, "Clay!" There was no answer, but a moment later he heard the click of the dog's nails on the floor; he drew his gun, the solid weight of it giving him some small measure of comfort as Leo came up behind him, quiet.

"Clay? Answer me!"

Nothing. Freckles came around the corner through the kitchen, limping a little bit, and whined at them. It took a second or two for Mitch's eyes to translate what he was seeing -- the dog's muzzle and front bright and tacky with blood.

"Fuck. Clay!" Mitch moved past the dog and down the hallway toward the living room with Leo shadowing him. He glanced automatically toward the back door -- it was open, broken glass scattered across the floor.

"Clay!" Mitch shouted it again, not expecting an answer this time, and rounded the corner to see the bloodied body of a man he didn't know -- brown hair, brown eyes, average height, average weight -- lying on the floor, and Clay beyond him, face-down, crumpled, still.

Leaving the perpetrator for Leo to deal with, Mitch went immediately over to Clay and knelt down on the floor, hand shaking as he touched him. "Clay?"

Clay made a little sound like a protest; he was warm, his pulse regular, but Mitch was afraid he might be hurt in ways that weren't obvious.

"Stay still," Mitch said, not sure if Clay could hear him. He glanced over at Leo, who was standing over the guy with his gun drawn, nudging him with his foot. There was no response, even though the guy's eyes were open and staring at the ceiling and he seemed to be breathing. He was bleeding from his inner thigh, a puddle of red across the floor, and he was wearing gloves that didn't quite cover the tattoo on his wrist.

Leo nudged the guy again. The man groaned and Leo told him, "Don't move."

Mitch quickly set his gun on the floor within easy reach and unclipped his radio from his belt, then requested an ambulance. Through the open front door, he heard the distant sound of sirens -- back-up on the way.

Freckles came over and sniffed at Clay, her gory muzzle almost enough to turn Mitch's stomach. The perp twitched and the dog growled; her lips lifted, showing her teeth, and Clay made another soft murmur and rolled over.

It was too late to keep him still, but Mitch lay a hand on his shoulder anyway. "Easy, baby. I'm right here."

"Mitchell?" God, it was the sweetest thing Mitch had ever heard, Clay's voice, even sounding the way it did. Fuck, there was bruising all around his throat and his lips had a faint bluish tinge. Mitch realized that the roughness in Clay's voice went with the red marks around his throat. The bastard had had his hands around Clay's neck.

"Everything's okay," Mitch told him. "There's an ambulance on the way." He could actually hear sirens in the distance.

"It was that guy. The one that's been flirting with me at work." Clay's eyes opened. "The dog bit him. She protected me."

"I know." Freckles, standing beside them, wagged her tail like nothing was wrong. Shifting over a little, Mitch leaned in to meet Clay's gaze and hopefully hold it. "Just look at me, okay?"

"Okay," Clay said hoarsely. "Why? What's--" He turned his head and saw the guy bleeding all over their floor, Leo standing there. "Oh my God."

"No, no, look at me." Mitch got down lower and Clay looked at him again. There were tears in his eyes. "It's okay."

"Is he dead?" Clay asked.

Mitch shook his head. "No. Did he hurt you?"

Clay's hand went up to his throat and he swallowed painfully. "I think... I think I hit my head. And he was choking me. Then the dog bit him, and--" He shut his eyes, trembling. "I pushed him. He fell."

"Shh," Mitch said. "It's okay, baby. We can talk about it later."

The sirens outside were loud now, and Mitch heard the squeal of tires and then a couple of the guys from the station calling for him and Leo..

"Back here!" Leo called, and a few seconds later Bernie and Joel appeared, weapons drawn. Mitch could see them sizing up the situation in about two seconds.

"The ambulance was right behind us," Joel said. He holstered his gun and came into the living room, then knelt beside the perp. "Jesus." The guy's eyes were shut now, but Mitch could still see the shallow lift and fall of his chest.

"Yeah," Mitch said.

"Good dog," Joel said, either in general or to Mitch. The ambulance arrived -- two of the paramedics immediately started to take care of the perp, bandaging up his leg and then bundling him onto a stretcher.

"How's he?" one of them -- Mitch was pretty sure his name was Danny -- asked, nodding at Clay.

"I'm okay," Clay said. He was sitting up now, leaning against Mitch. "I don't want to go to the hospital."

"We need to get you checked out," Mitch said.

"I'm fine." Clay was still hoarse, but his color was better. "There's nothing they can do."

"You're going if I have to put you into the ambulance myself," Mitch said, then lowered his voice. "Please, baby. For me? You could have a concussion."

Clay nodded and pressed closer to Mitch, resting his forehead on Mitch's shoulder. "Okay, I'll go. But not in the ambulance."

"Not in the ambulance," Mitch agreed.

Danny came over and checked Clay's vitals, then asked him a few questions. Finally, he said, "Throat's pretty swollen, but he's getting enough air, and his eyes look okay. I'll catch up with you later on, see how you're doing."

"Thanks," Clay said.

The paramedics loaded their patient into the ambulance and left.

"There's blood on the couch," Clay said, frowning.

"There's blood everywhere," Mitch told him. "Don't worry about it. As long as it's not yours, I don't give a shit."

Clay looked upset. "But the couch is new."

"Baby," Mitch said, cradling Clay's chin in one hand and lifting it a little. "Stop worrying about the fucking couch. We'll get a new one, okay?"

"I like this one." Clay said. His eyes met Mitch's; they were a little glassy.

Mitch nodded. "I know you do. Come on; let's get you up off the floor."

Clay was shaky on his feet, and he clung to Mitch, hanging on like letting go wasn't an option. "He came into our house," Clay whispered. "I was just -- he broke the glass in the door, and he--" Leo came back into the room and he stopped.

"Sorry," Leo said. "Why don't you guys go on; we can get a report from Clay later. I'll call Anna to come over and take care of the dog."

"Thanks," Mitch said, and led Clay toward the front door.

The ER was busy, and even though police tended to get preferential treatment -- even if they weren't the ones who were hurt -- they ended up waiting a long time. Mitch sat with Clay, holding his hand, until the doctor came into the exam room and checked him over. "You're going to have a rainbow of bruises," the doctor said.

"I like rainbows," Clay said with a wan smile.

"Good." The doctor pressed his fingertips lightly against Clay's throat. "Does that hurt?"

"Mm. A little." It made Mitch want to kill the guy.

The doctor rolled his chair back and stood up. "Everything looks good otherwise; there are no signs of concussion, and at this point you're not likely to keep swelling. Take it easy for a day or two -- nothing strenuous -- and if you have any problems, which I don't think you will, call your regular doctor or come back here."

Leo was waiting for them out in the hallway. "Don't worry," he said immediately, holding up a hand. "I left Bernie at your place until the door's fixed."

"What about the guy?" Clay asked, leaning against Mitch's side.

"They had to give him a couple dozen stitches," Leo said. "And he's got a hell of a concussion, but that comes in handy because he's already confessed to way more than he should without a lawyer present, if you know what I mean." Mitch did. "He'll be here overnight at least. Under guard, of course. Once the doctors say he can be released, he'll be officially taken into police custody."

"Good," Clay said. "What about Freckles?"

"Anna came over to your place and got her cleaned up."

"No, I mean... is she going to get in trouble?" Clay sounded anxious.

Leo shook his head. "Nah. The guy broke into your house and attacked you -- she was defending her territory and you. Worst case scenario, she'll have to be under a sort of house arrest for a while. As long as she doesn't show further signs of aggression, things'll be fine." He looked at Mitch instead of Clay. "We need to go down to the station."

"Yeah, I know," Mitch said.

"It's okay," Clay said, subdued. "I know we have to. There are probably, like, a dozen forms and things to fill out, right?"

"Not that many," Leo said. "But it's important to do it as soon as possible. While everything's still fresh in your mind."

Clay nodded. "Okay. So let's do it."

They used the same room they had with Nick and Matthew, but this time the vibe was totally different. Instead of being distant and professional, Leo was solicitous, getting Clay a cup of coffee and asking more than once if there was anything he needed. Mitch let Leo take over, and sat with Clay instead of on the other side of the table. He knew he wasn't going to like anything he heard.

"Okay, Clay," Leo said. "You know we caught the guy, so this is really just a formality. We're not in a hurry; take all the time you need." He picked up his pen. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Clay's hands were on the table, his fingers laced together. "I was on the phone with Mitch," he said. "The windows were open -- it was such a nice day and I wanted to let some fresh air in. But I needed to go back to work -- oh God, I never called!" He turned anguished eyes to Mitch. "Daphne's going to be so pissed off."

"Not when she finds out what happened," Mitch reassured him. "I'll call her later, okay? Don't worry about it."

"Easy for you to say," Clay said. "You don't have to work with her." But he made an obvious effort to focus on what they were doing. "So Mitch told me to shut the windows. I did, and then I saw the box on my pillow. I thought Mitch left it."

"Did you open the box?" Leo asked.

"Yes. There was a keychain inside." Clay frowned. "I don't know where it went."

"We found it at the scene," Leo said. "It's been taken into evidence." That was right, Mitch thought -- Leo would have recognized that the keychain matched the other two.

"Okay. Anyway, I think I asked Mitch what it was. At first I thought it was some kind of surprise -- like, he was going to give me a key to something new to go on it. But Mitch freaked out and started telling me to go, to drive to the station, and then..." Clay's hands tightened and he swallowed, remembering. "I heard a crash, and the dog started barking, and I turned around and someone -- that guy, he grabbed me." He had tears in his eyes, but seemed determined not to let them fall.

"His name is David Knowles," Leo said, nodding. "Did you know him?" It was a typical and effective method of diffusing the emotional upset of recounting something traumatic; go off on a tangent.

Clay shook his head. "Not really. Not -- I didn't know his name. But I'd seen him before. A bunch of times."

"Near your house?" Leo asked.

Another head-shake. "No, at work. He'd come in for a while, pretty regularly, to buy flowers. He always paid in cash, and he always took them with him when he went -- that's why I never knew his name. He'd be in often for a month or so, then there'd be no sign of him for a few months, and then he'd start coming back again." Leo made a note. "Then, the past couple of days, he... he started talking to me. Asking me personal questions, stuff like that."

Leo was calm and patient. "What kinds of questions?"

"If I lived nearby," Clay said.

"And did you tell him where you lived?" Leo asked.

Clay looked scandalized. "Of course not." He swallowed. "Well. I gave him a general idea. But I didn't tell him what street or anything."

"It's okay," Mitch said, resting his hand on Clay's thigh.

"I'm not that stupid," Clay said.

"No one thinks you're stupid," Leo said firmly. "What other kinds of questions did he ask?"

"Um..." Clay tried to think. "What I liked. He said... he said I looked sad. Like I needed a friend. I... I think I told him my boyfriend and I were having problems."

Leo leaned forward a little bit. "What did he do when you said that?"

Clay flushed, remembering. "Started flirting with me."

"Did you encourage it?" Leo looked apologetic for having to ask, but if he didn't, someone else would later.

"No," Clay said. "I tried to discourage it, but without being rude."

"And when was the last time you saw him before today?"

Clay's shoulders were slumping; he was starting to look tired. "I think yesterday. At work. He asked me out. I said no. He kind of smiled, and he said he'd change my mind."

Leo nodded as he took some more notes. "And today, after he grabbed you, what did he do?"

"He said... he said it was my turn," Clay said. "He pushed me up against the wall. I hit my head. And then... I think he was choking me. Freckles jumped on him and bit him, on the leg, and he kicked her. She slid across the floor and crashed into the table. He was bleeding, kind of a lot, and I turned to grab the dolphin statue off the coffee table -- I remember thinking you'd be glad if I broke it on his head," he said to Mitch with a little grin. "But he grabbed me again, and his hands were really strong. I couldn't breathe. I was trying to do something, I don't know, hit him, knee him in the balls..."

Hitching his chair closer, Mitch pushed Clay's coffee cup against his hand. Clay picked it up and sipped the coffee.

"And then," Clay said. "I think he tripped over the dog or something, because he fell and hit his head. And then I think maybe I fainted. I sort of remember hitting the floor. I know Freckles was growling... I don't know. And then Mitch was there." He turned adoring eyes toward Mitch, who put an arm around Clay's shoulders.

"Good," Leo said approvingly. "You're doing great, Clay. Now, when you say you'd seen him before at work, about how many times do you think he came into the shop?"

***

There was still a squad car in front of the house when they got back -- Leo insisted on following them home, and Mitch hadn't argued when it'd been clear that Clay found the idea comforting -- as well as a blue van with a local company's logo on it. Anna's car was across the street, and when she heard them coming up the steps she appeared in the entryway with Freckles.

"Is she okay?" Clay asked.

"She's fine. I had one of the shelter vets come over and look at her just in case -- he said she's a little banged up, but nothing's broken. He even helped me give her a bath." It wasn't until Anna mentioned that part that Mitch realized the blood that had been all over Freckles' fur was gone. "She's a good girl." Freckles wagged her plume of a tail and looked up at Anna.

Clay bent to pat her. "Leo said she won't get in trouble."

"I talked to the shelter's legal consultant," Anna said. "We can prove that she's up to date on her shots. It'd be a good idea not to take her out of the yard for a couple of days, probably, until we can make sure everything's taken care of. But she's not in trouble."

"Good," Clay said.

"Hey, Mitch," Bernie said, joining them. "Everything's all set -- we got all the photos and prints we need, and we had to take a couple of things into evidence, including one of your sofa cushions. Jameson had one of the cleaning crews come in; they just left. Figured the last thing you'd need would be to come back to a big mess of bl... uh. A big mess."

Mitch smiled tightly. "Thanks, Bern."

"And the glass lady's just finishing up; once she is I'll clear out of here. Unless you need anything?" Bernie seemed eager to help -- Mitch appreciated it.

"I think we're okay," he said. He glanced at Clay, who nodded.

"Kind of tired," Clay said, then, to Mitch, "We can postpone that dinner out, can't we?"

"Sure."

"Cool. I think I'm gonna go grab a quick shower." Mitch didn't realize until everyone else had gone that Clay had been in the bathroom a long time. He locked the front door -- glancing out into the driveway and catching Anna and Leo standing close together, Anna's face tilted up toward Leo's, which made him smile -- and double-checked the back one before knocking on the bathroom door. "Clay?"

"You can come in," Clay called. "Is everyone gone?"

"No, I thought we could maybe put on a show," Mitch said, going in. The air was thick with steam. "Yeah. It's just us."

The water shut off, the handle squeaking a little bit as Clay turned it, and Mitch grabbed a towel and offered it to Clay as he slid the shower curtain aside.

"Shit," Mitch said, startled again by the sight of the reddened skin around Clay's throat.

"Does it look awful?" Clay asked. He brought a hand up and touched the skin lightly.

"No, not awful," Mitch reassured him. But as soon as Clay stepped out of the tub, he couldn't stop himself from pulling him into an embrace.

Clay patted Mitch's back awkwardly. "It's okay. I'm fine."

"You have no clue how scared I was," Mitch said. Clay smelled like shampoo and soap, and he was warm and pliant from the shower; it was Mitch's heart that was beating too fast.

"Probably not as scared as me," Clay said.

"The thought of that bastard putting his hands on you..." Mitch felt Clay shiver and cursed himself for reminding him. "He's never going to touch you again, I swear."

"I know." But Clay was shaking now -- a delayed reaction Mitch should have expected after how well he'd held it together throughout the afternoon. "I think I need to sit down."

"Let's get you to bed," Mitch said.

He lay down with Clay and held him, running fingers through Clay's short hair as it dried. After a while, Freckles jumped up on the bed and lay near the foot of it, worried dark eyes watching them, and neither of them shooed her away. A couple of times Mitch suggested that he go make some dinner, but Clay insisted that he wasn't hungry. "Stay with me until I fall asleep."

It didn't take all that long -- Clay relaxed into a heavy sleep, and after half an hour or so Mitch slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen. Freckles followed him. He put food in her bowl and watched her as she ate it. Each time Mitch moved, the dog looked up at him, and finally he couldn't wait anymore.

"Come on, girl," he said, and went into the living room with her at his heels. "Sit," Mitch told her, and she did, watching him expectantly. "Good girl. Lie down."

Freckles lay down, ears pricked at attention.

"Fuck me," Mitch breathed. The dog's head tilted to one side; she looked confused. "That wasn't an order," he said, smiling. "Stay."

Leaving her there, he went to the closet near the front door and took out an umbrella he'd had so long he didn't remember where he'd gotten it. He went back to the living room holding it like walking stick, watching Freckles' reaction. She hadn't moved from where he'd left her, and she blinked at him patiently, apparently waiting for further instruction.

"Good dog." Mitch raised the umbrella, pointing the end of it at her. She didn't seem nervous. He raised it higher, over his head, standing over the dog menacingly. Freckles just blinked up at him. Mitch made a threatening sound and swung the umbrella downward toward her like he was going to hit her. Her ears went back, but her eyes were wide and worried and the tip of her tail was wagging; she showed no signs of aggression whatsoever. It was like she'd lived with Mitch all her life and trusted him implicitly.

Mitch dropped the umbrella down onto the floor and knelt, taking Freckle's head in his hands. "Good girl. Good dog." He patted her until she was panting and grinning, trying to lick his face. Then he got up and went back to the bedroom, where Clay was still sleeping peacefully.

Reassured in more ways than one, Mitch called for a pizza from Clay's favorite place, a grilled chicken and mushroom, and then looked in his wallet until he found the folded piece of paper Nick had given him and phoned the number scribbled on it. It only rang twice before Nick answered it.

"Hello?" His voice was like a rush of warmth -- hearing it made Mitch feel good.

"Hi, Nick. It's Mitch."

"Mitch. Hi," Nick said. "I haven't heard from her again. Paige, I mean."

"Oh," Mitch said, sitting down on the half of the couch that still had a cushion. "Okay. Maybe you won't." He sounded a little bit smug, and Nick must have picked up on that.

"You caught him?"

"In a matter of speaking," Mitch said. "Yeah, he's in custody. He broke into my house and attacked Clay."

"God. Is he okay?" Nick sounded shocked.

Mitch looked toward the bedroom, listening, but it was quiet. "He's okay. A little bruised, but when I think how things could have turned out..." His voice broke, just a little bit.

"You were lucky," Nick said softly. "You are lucky. You know that."

And, because there was nothing else to do but agree, Mitch said, "Yes. Very lucky."

"Then I don't have to tell you not to mess with that," Nick said. "Are you staying together?"

"Yes. I was lucky there, too." More than he deserved. He knew that.

"Did you tell him?" Nick asked. "About what happened with you and me?"

Mitch cleared his throat and glanced up to see Clay standing there in the doorway, eyes dark and worried. "No," he said faintly. "Not yet."

"But you will?" Nick pressed.

Mitch nodded, still looking at Clay. "I will. What about you?"

He could practically hear Nick's indecision, but after a few seconds, Nick said, "It won't matter. It won't change anything. What Matthew and I have... it's not like that. But yes, okay? I'll tell him." He sighed. "Listen, Mitch... take care of yourself, okay? And him."

Getting up, Mitch walked over to where Clay was leaning against the door frame. "Yeah. You don't have to worry about that." Carefully, he said, "I love him."

"I know you do," Nick said.

"Thanks, Nick. For all your help, and for... for everything."

"You're welcome," Nick said, and then, "Goodbye, Mitch." It was harder to hear than Mitch would have thought, but somehow he managed to say goodbye, too, and hung up the phone.

Clay was watching him. "Who was that?"

"Nick," Mitch said. "The guy from work. The psychic." He hesitated, trying to decide if this was the wrong time to tell Clay more or if it was just that he was afraid to, but Clay beat him to it.

"Something happened," he said. "Between the two of you."

Mitch nodded. "I kissed him."

Instead of freaking out or pulling away -- both of which he would have been entitled to do -- Clay said, "Tell me why."

"Sit down first," Mitch said, tugging at Clay's hand gently, because Clay was trembling in a way he was pretty sure had nothing to do with emotion.

Clay made a face. "Not on the couch," he said.

"The cushion's gone anyway," Mitch said. "Kitchen?"

They went into the kitchen and sat, Mitch sliding his chair close to Clay's so that their knees were touching. Clay looked at him expectantly.

"He was... the whole psychic thing was intense," Mitch said, trying to put it into words. "It was like it hurt him. I think it did hurt him. He collapsed onto the ground -- it was at the park, where we found the girl's body -- and I was holding him, trying to, I don't know, comfort him."

"Of course you were," Clay said gently, and Mitch looked at him. Of all the reactions he'd been expecting, this wasn't one of them. "What, did you think I was going to freak out?"

"Um..." Mitch didn't know how to respond to that. "Yeah. Kind of."

Clay held his gaze. "You just kissed him? I mean, nothing else?"

"Nothing else," Mitch said. "I swear."

"Okay." Clay reached out and took Mitch's face in his hands. "I love that you want to comfort people. I've always loved that about you. It'd be pretty hypocritical of me to be mad at you about it now." Something flashed behind his eyes. "But it never goes any further than that. Ever. Do I make myself clear?"

Mitch leaned in and kissed him quickly. "Yes. Totally clear. It's never going to happen again. I promise."

The doorbell rang and Clay flinched.

"It's just the pizza guy," Mitch reassured him, patting his knee. "I got your favorite."

"Chicken and mushroom from Emilio's?" Clay asked.

"Of course. I'll go get it." The dog followed Mitch to the door -- she hadn't even barked when the bell rang, Mitch realized -- and stood beside him while he paid, not seeming even slightly bothered by the presence of the delivery guy. By the time Mitch went back to the kitchen, Clay had put out two plates and a handful of napkins.

Clay looked at the pizza doubtfully when Mitch opened the box. "I don't know if I can eat."

"Sure you can," Mitch said, leaning over to put a slice of pizza onto Clay's plate. "You need to. You've got to keep up your strength."

"I'll have to go to court, won't I?" Clay said.

Mitch nodded as Clay plucked a slice of mushroom off his slice of pizza and ate it. "Maybe. It depends. But probably not any time soon. These things can take a long time."

"I know. Do you think he'll get life? I mean, he'll at least go to prison for a long time, right? There's no way he'll get off?" Clay sounded worried but kept his gaze unwaveringly on his food.

They'd already talked about this. "Clay. Sweetheart." Mitch waited until Clay looked up at him. "He killed three people, maybe four. He attacked you. And you heard what Leo said about him confessing to some of it already. Besides, we have a witness -- you. He's not going to get away with this. You don't have to worry about it."

Clay made a little face. "But stuff happens sometimes, right? Cases fall through. Don't they?"

"There's no reason to think that'll happen here," Mitch told him. "Whatever judge ends up hearing this one's going to take it very, very seriously. Trust me."

"I do," Clay said. He sighed. "I don't want to eat right now. Could we just go to bed?"

This probably wasn't the time to argue with him, so Mitch led Clay back to the bedroom. Freckles followed them and lay down next to the bed as they got in, silent but watchful.

"Just hold me?" Clay asked.

Mitch did, wrapping Clay in a fierce embrace and kissing his temple. "It's gonna be okay, baby. I promise."

"I know. I love you."

"I love you, too," Mitch said into Clay's hair, knowing it more certainly than he'd ever known anything in his life.

Nothing else was as important, and he was going to do whatever it took to hold onto this -- onto Clay -- for as long as he could.

 

The End.


End file.
